Running Dry
by BarbaraGER
Summary: SET IN THE BEGINNING OF SEASON 4 – Sam's special powers doesn't remain undetected. Ambushed by the enemy in the Arizona desert he loses Dean for the second time and has to face the new threat on his own.
1. Chapter 1

**RUNNING DRY  
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><p><em><strong>Story type:<strong> Multichapter_

_**Genre:** Hurt/Comfort  
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_**Characters:** Sam, Dean  
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_**Timeline:** Set in the beginning of season 4  
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_**Summary:**__ SET IN SEASON 4 – Sam's special powers doesn't remain undetected. Ambushed by the enemy in the Arizona desert he loses Dean for the second time and has to face the new threat on his own.  
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><p><em><strong>Author's notes<strong>: One big fat HAPPY NEW YEAR 2012 to all of you, folks! Hope you had a great party, I wish you all the best for the next 12 months!_

_And this is my new-years-gift for you, a new story, yay! I started this one in spring 2011 and, like every story I write, it almost ended in the virtual trashbin. I had to put it aside a few times because of real life and all the surprises it brings, but now that I'm almost done with it I think it's safe to post the first chapter._

_For those of you who read 'Cornered' – you migh have some kind of déjà vu. 'Running Dry' is something like the BIG version of 'Cornered'. Hope you like it._

_Another note: this is set in early season 4 – Dean doesn't know anything about Sam's powers when this story begins. There's no Castiel (sorry, kiddos), no handprint. The only thing I borrowed is the conversation of Sam and Dean in 'Lazarus Rising' while driving to Pamela, only that the guys don't drive to Pamela because there's no handprint. Huh? Have I lost you now? Don't worry, it sounds complicated, but it isn't.  
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_This story will be about 14 chapters long, so not as long as the usual stuff I write, but hey! It's almost finished!_

_And here's room for my lovely princess, **MeAzrael**, who had a really really royally screwed up year last year and still kept up keeping a sharp eye on my typing fingers. My honeypie, I hope the year that lies ahead will hold much more beautiful moments for you! I'm there for you, whatever it is!_

**_And here's the disclaimer: Supernatural and it's characters belong to Eric Kripke and the CW – no money's made with this work._**

**_Enjoy!  
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><p><strong>Chapter 01<strong>

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><p>Sam had to smile at his brother's enthusiasm, Dean's vibrating joy and anticipation infecting him, making him glad he had suggested this detour in the first place.<p>

"Man, do you see that?" Dean beamed, his eyes darting from the road to his left through the front side window, "I mean, I knew it looks awesome, but being actually here and seeing it with my own eyes is just…freakin' wicked."

"Dude, you sound like Neil Armstrong after he set foot on the moon."

"Well, yeah Sam, maybe I feel like it, too. This looks like the moon anyway. Hey, let's try this skywalk thing, okay? I have to see if I can handle it, floating above an abyss, all that stuff."

"Whatever", Sam laughed, enjoying the magnificent view and Dean's good mood. He had suggested to take the wheel earlier, wouldn't have minded to drive so his brother could admire the sight without having to concentrate on the street. But Dean wouldn't have none of it. Probably because of the venturous tingling – driving a muscle car through the Arizona heat, raising hot sand and dust, the Grand Canyon to the left, the sun burning down from above. Pity that the Impala had no convertible roof, it would have made the whole Bonny-&-Clyde thing perfect.

There was no new job in sight, the last hunt had been successful and not very straining. So when Sam had browsed the internet the night before, had spotted an ad for hotel and lodging in the Grand Canyon National Park, he remembered that there weren't many places Dean really wanted to go when they had some spare time, but that this was definitely one of them.

A few days off would do them good. Especially with all the tension crackling between them lately.

His older brother had been reluctant at first, had asked Sam about a hundred times if there really was nothing to do, no one to safe, nothing to kill. How could they spend some leisure time, strolling through souvenir shops when there were other people's lives at stake? But Dean's eyes had already been gleaming, he had already gotten the jitters and it was pretty obvious where they were going when the sun got up.

It had been downright cute watching Dean march through the gas station shop, chattering about how hot it was in Arizona this time of the year and how he was going to throw at least one pebble from the highest point to see how long it would take to impact at the bottom of the canyon. If Sam didn't know how old his brother was he'd say he was something between 5 and 7.

Sometimes it was so easy to make Dean happy.

"You're going to get a sunburn on your arm, you know that?" Sam admonished, nodding towards Dean's left arm resting on the Impala's window sill. Both brothers had shed their jackets and long sleeved shirts due to the warmth and Dean's forearm had already turned lobster red.

"Relax Sammy", Dean replied, reaching for the water bottle next to him, "no need to…" He paused, looking into the rear view mirror. Letting go of the bottle, he gently steered the Impala to the right, almost brushing the escarpment.

Sam looked at him in puzzlement and threw a glance over his shoulder to see what was behind them. "What is it?"

Dean shrugged, "Nothing, just someone driving with his foot down to the floor. I'm gonna let him pass, don't want to have someone glued to my trunk the whole time."

The moment Dean had finished the sentence, a giant van with darkened windows rushed past them, engulfing the Impala in a huge cloud of desert sand.

"That son of a bitch", Dean coughed, accelerating again, "This is called the scenic route so take a moment and look around, moron."

"Maybe he's been here for a while and fed up with the view", Sam stated and shrugged.

"Could you ever be fed up with this view? I can't believe it." The brothers lapsed into silence and Dean put his arm back onto the window sill, while Sam just shook his head at him. He made a mental note to buy some sun screen when they'd be back in civilization again.

There hadn't been a gas station or a restaurant for ages now. Even cars were really rare on this part of the road, one or two every thirty minutes. But it didn't matter, they had all the time in the world, the Impala was fully fueled, they had enough water and snacks on board.

"Now look at this", Dean exclaimed, adding a gleeful "Ha!" for good measure. Following his brother's line of sight Sam could only come up with a flat "Huh."

Looming ahead at the side of the narrow road stood the dark van that had just passed them, hood opened, it's radiator giving off clouds of smoke. A young man stood beside it, staring miserably into the engine compartment.

"See Sam, scenic route. Please enjoy the view of the fantastic Grand Canyon to your left and the sight of a common dick right up ahead."

"Are we going to stop and help him?"

"No."

"No?" Sam threw a sideways glance at his brother. "Dean, you do notice that here's nothing in miles? It could take hours for someone to pass him out here and help him out."

"I'm sure he has a cell phone."

When they got closer, the kid stepped onto the street and waved at them.

"Oh you got to be kidding me…"

"Dean, slow down."

Dean mumbled something to himself, probably uttering an itches curse for Sam and something more sinister directed at the kid in front of them, but he slowed the Impala down, drove past the other vehicle and steered her to the right, parking in front of it.

"Atta boy…"

"Shut up. You can get right out and help him, good Samaritan."

Sam couldn't help but bark out a laugh and did as he was told, leaving his pissed sibling in the car. He'd give him five minutes before Dean would appear at his side, shaking his head at Sam's amateurish way with engines and push him aside to take care of the problem at hand himself.

"Hey", Sam called at the kid who seemed to be pretty young now that Sam was almost eye to eye with him, maybe 19 or 20, "car trouble?"

"Yeah", came the reply and the boy waved at the fuming engine in disgust, "guess I'm out of coolant. Stupid, huh?" He stepped back, moving over for Sam to have a look at the damage.

Not that he was much of a help here, he was glad he could identify the oil dipstick from the FEAD belt. Sam leaned over the compartment nonetheless. He could at least pretend to have a clue for a moment and then get Dean, although he wasn't sure if his brother would succeed with whatever was wrong. If the car was indeed out of coolant, what were they supposed to do? Did regular water work?

Sam scratched his head and was about to straighten again when the frantic blow of the Impala's horn caught his attention. In the same second the familiar sound of a weapon being cocked rang out right beside his ear and already he felt the cold steel being pressed against his skull. While he slowly raised his hands, he heard the creak of his brother's car door and a second gun clicked.

"Don't do anything stupid", he heard Dean growl, and even with a gun against his head Sam felt the tiniest bit of relief.

However, when he heard the sliding door of the van open, the shuffling of at least three or four people, voices and a few more weapons being cocked, he knew they were in trouble. Big time. Someone grabbed him and pulled him away from the engine compound, turning him around roughly. At least he was now able to take in the scene in front of him without suffocating from engine fumes.

The gun piercing his temple was held by no one else then the skinny kid. Only that the hostile gesture didn't fit to his appearance. His shoulders were slightly slumped, his face showed insecurity and nervousness. Sam was sure if he'd knock the weapon out of his grip the boy would turn around and run away as fast as he could.

To Sam's left three men appeared, each one carrying a gun, trained on him and Dean.

His brother stood a few feet away next to the Impala, his own gun aimed at the kid, his death glare scrutinizing their opponents. If Dean was scared, and Sam knew he probably was, he didn't show any signs of it.

Suddenly, a slow applause by one pair of hands sounded from behind them and Sam had to keep himself from whirling around to avoid earning himself a hole to the head. He darted nervous eyes over to Dean, tried to read his brothers expression.

But Dean's face was devoid of any emotion, just plain hatred written over it in big bold letters. He was obviously glaring at the person clapping his hands. When Sam saw movement from the corner of his eyes he dared to turn his head slightly.

"Gentlemen, you look fabulous." A well-built man in his thirties appeared from the shadows, wearing a smug smile. "Reminds me of a real movie scene."

"What is this all about?" Dean snarled, his glare darkening even more.

"Dean. Relax. How about you put that thing somewhere else, huh?"

The ripple that went through Sam's body at hearing his brother's name caused him to straighten. And given the look on Dean's face his sibling was as bewildered as him.

Nice. Whoever those people were, they knew their names. Well wasn't that just terrific.

"Now, Dean. Because I tell you something. I see five people with guns, two are trained on little Sammy's head, two are trained on yours, one is trained on me. But even if you manage to shoot it'll take less than a second for you and your brother to slump down to the floor with nice little bullets in your pretty heads. So I'd suggest you hand the thing over to us and play nice. How does that sound?"

Sam darted narrowed eyes from their opponent to his brother, who still hadn't moved. _Put it down, Dean. Damnit._ Just when he opened his mouth to convince Dean to let it go, his brother lowered the weapon. One of the men stepped up to him and ripped it from Dean's hand.

"See. Much better."

"You seem to know us", Sam spoke up, trying to sound calm and nonchalant, directing the attention away from his sibling, "so how about you tell us your name, too?" Playing for time. Trying to get as much information as possible. Which kind of trouble had they gotten themselves into here?

"Oh yes, absolutely. You can call me Kane."

Kane. That name didn't ring a bell at all.

"Well, Kane – what can we do for you?" Dean's voice was dripping with sarcasm.

Kane buried his hands in the pockets of his sand-colored linen trousers and chuckled. A noise Sam found very disturbing.

"Not 'we', Dean. Actually the question should be, 'What can Sam do for us?'"

Sam clenched his jaw. He glanced over to his brother, whose eyes widened.

"Yeah yeah, you heard right. I'm going to explain what I have planned, I mean it's your right to know what's going to happen during the next five minutes." He strolled to Sam, who fought the urge to recoil. This was so not good.

"Don't you dare…"

Kane stopped beside Sam, unfazed by Dean's low growl, and put a hand on the younger Winchester's shoulder.

"You, Sam, will get in the van, nice and calm. We're going to handcuff you, better be safe than sorry, right? Nothing will happen to you, I promise. As long as you're cooperative, I won't even have to hit you."

The alarm bells in Sam's mind started to scream.

"Nice offer", he replied, cursing inwardly when his voice shook, "but I think I'll pass."

"Nice try", Kane leaned in, his mouth too close to Sam's ear, "but not an option."

"That's actually a gorgeous plan", Dean spoke up, and Sam recognized that his tone had changed. He was trying to switch tactics. Be nice. Get the attention away from Sammy. _Damnit Dean_. "Do I get to play a role in this, too?"

Kane turned to him. The creepy smile was back. And the pit in Sam's stomach grew.

"Of course. You got to play the decaying brother. How does that sound?"

There was a silence. Sam darted nervous glances to his brother who just blinked at Kane, a mixture of fear and confusion written on his face.

"Woah…"

Neither of them had time to comprehend Kane's last comment.

"Stevie", Kane barked at the kid who had his gun still trained on Sam's head. He then nodded towards Dean. "Shoot him."

Everything happened lightning fast. Realization hit Sam like a steam hammer. When he felt the nozzle of the weapon being removed from his skull, he jerked forward, a shouted 'No!' tumbling from his lips. A voice in his head reminded him that this might not have been a good idea, that everything he was about to do was absolutely useless, with no weapon, no way out, being outnumbered by five people. Somewhere he heard Dean yell his name when a set of large, strong hands grabbed Sam's arms and shoulders and pushed him down onto his knees, holding him back and in place.

The rushing in his head stopped and he looked up, taking in the scene in front of him.

Dean had taken a step forward, probably to get to him and keep him from doing something stupid. His forward movement had been stopped by the kid, Stevie, who still stood next to Sam, but was now aiming at Dean.

"Okay", Dean held his hands up, talking slow, "might be an interesting role but...come on...seriously?"

"No, wait", Sam started, "please…this isn't necessary…why not…" _Think, Sam, think_… "You can take both of us…whatever you want to do, whatever you have planned, we might be useful together…" They couldn't do that, they were about to shoot Dean, he couldn't just sit kneel here and watch. There had to be a way. There just had to.

No way would he ever watch his brother die again. Period.

"No, Sam, YOU are useful." Kane leaned down to him. His tone was soft and understanding. Like a fuckin' father who was about to tell his child that it couldn't keep its teddy bear. "And I don't think I have to explain to you why it's not possible to hold you hostage and let Dean get away, right?"

He stood. His tone changed again. "Put a bullet into his head, Stevie."

"No, no, wait…" Sam struggled, physically and mentally, he struggled for words, for arguments, for anything that might save his brother's life. They could take him, he'd go with them willingly, he'd even get into that fucking van without chains and handcuffs, whistling a happy tune if they'd wanted him to do so.

"Stevie. What are you waiting for? Do it."

Sam looked up at the kid with desperate, pleading eyes, "Stevie…don't do that….I'm begging you here. Come on, you don't seem to be a killer, do you. Please…"

Stevie's aim wavered. He was chewing his bottom lip and his Adam's apple was bopping convulsively. He was completely overwhelmed by the whole situation, Sam could see that very clearly. If he could only reach the kid, maybe he'd help them out. Maybe…

"Stevie! Now!"

The young man flinched. Sam flinched. And from the corner of his eye he noticed that Dean had, too. Turning his head, Sam met his brother's gaze.

Dean was no longer glaring. Not at Kane, not at anyone. His green eyes were searching Sam's face. There was this expression again. Sam remembered it. And he hated it. Because the last time he had seen it on Dean's face it had been a goodbye. Those huge glassy orbs in combination with that feeble smile…the only thing that was missing right now was a clock in the background striking midnight.

"It's okay, Sammy. We'll find a way out of this, somehow we're going to fix this. Don't panic, just do what they want and you'll be fine, you hear?"

Was his brother asking for approval? Was he really thinking Sam would just leave it be? Just like that?

"Don't you give up, Dean…don't you dare…no…" Sam struggled on, hissing when a spike of pain shot through his shoulder due to the unnatural position it was held in.

"Sam, let it go…"

"Awww, this is so heartbreaking, really, I'm on the verge of tears here, guys." Kane made a noise that sounded like a sniff. "But you know what, I just don't have time for this. Now, Stevie. How about you end this, huh?"

Sam's mind was reeling. He glanced up at the kid again who tightened his grip on the gun and narrowed his eyes. He looked over to Dean who was finally glaring again.

"Don't forget to salt and burn me, you son of a bitch", his brother growled, "because I might be just itchin' to rip you apart when I come back."

Kane flashed him a dirty smile. "Of course. Sleep well, Dean."

When the single shot rang out, it was drowned by Sam's scream. He tried to jump forward, tried to get to Dean, to catch him, to protect him, but found himself still being held back by his captors. He watched in horror as Dean jerked backwards, his sibling's outcry of pain searing through Sam like a hot blade. There was a small explosion of blood erupting from Dean's temple. His face contorted with pain for mere seconds before his features went completely slack and he dropped hard to his knees.

Sam heard screams of denial, was temporarily relieved about the fact that Dean was still screaming because that meant he was still alive and not kneeling in the dirt in front of him with a fucking headshot, only to realize that it were HIS screams surrounding him, engulfing him, that it was him fighting and trashing on the floor, trying to get free.

One more time their eyes met, Dean's wide eyed and in shock while Sam blinked frantically to get rid of the damn veil of tears because FUCK he relived it again, his brother was dying right in front of him and he couldn't look at him, couldn't see him properly because of those goddamn tears.

"No…please, no…"

Dean didn't blink, he just looked at Sam, trapped in this moment. Too much blood ran down at the side of his face.

"Dean…"

Then his eyes rolled back and he slumped forward into the hot desert sand.

The howl tearing from Sam's throat was almost inhuman. It was raw, it was guttural, it caused Kane's men to jump. Maybe it would have been the right moment to break away from their hold, if Sam would have had any strength left.

He didn't move. Couldn't move. He said Dean's name over and over again, his pleas turning first to whispered rasps, then to choked sobs.

"Good job, kiddo", Kane spoke up, "go and check on him."

"Don't you touch him…" Sam snarled hoarsely, his voice almost gone, but his hatred and rage enough to keep it going, "no one touches him…" He stared at Dean's body. Couldn't help but imagine a rise and fall of his sibling's back. Couldn't take his eyes off his brother, laying a few feet away on his stomach, arms stretched out above his head, his face turned away from him. A small puddle of blood formed itself beneath Dean's head, staining the golden sand.

From the corner of his eye Sam noticed Stevie making a tentative step forward. Before he was able to lunge at the kid, his captors tightened their grip on him again and pulled him backwards once again.

"Back off, you fucking son of a bitch...back the hell off!" Through bleary eyes he had to watch the young man step up to Dean slowly, crouch down beside him and poke Dean's throat for a pulse. When Stevie looked up again, shaking his head, Sam felt his world crash for a second time.

"Okay. We're done here." Kane clapped his hands together. He turned towards Sam. "Load him up. Make sure he's secured. And I mean, Leavenworth secured. Don't underestimate a little brother's wrath."

Sam felt himself being hauled to his feet and was met with Kane's smug smile, only inches away from his face. "I know you're royally pissed right now. I get that. But this is a chance, son. You are free to start a brand new life now. No one holding you back. No one clinging to you like a…"

It should hurt like a mother. Slamming your own skull into someone's face with full force was supposed to be painful and not to be pulled off without side effects. But everything Sam felt was satisfaction. It wasn't enough, you couldn't put a band aid onto the wound of a torn out limp and expect everything to be fine again. But watching Kane stumble backwards, holding his nose and grunting in agony was at least something.

However, when Kane straightened again, chuckling mildly, Sam's anger flared up again.

"Don't waste your strength", he laughed, wiping the blood from his face. "Let's hit the road. Stevie, get the gasoline and the salt from the van. If you're finished here take the Chevy. We meet at the ranch."

"I'm going to kill you", Sam hissed, "I promise, I will kill you and I will take my sweet time for it, I swear."

Kane didn't move a muscle. "I'm sorry about your brother. I really liked him." He then went to the van's passenger's door and got in.

Sam's tearful gaze was glued to his brother's body, _brother, not body, not a corpse, he isn't dead, he can't be dead, I can't lose him again, please no,_ who hadn't moved _wouldn't move ever again_.

His thoughts were jumbled _salt_ running in circles _gasoline_ like snowflakes in a snowstorm _they were going to burn him, they're going to fucking burn him_ and he trashed again, screamed at Stevie, screamed at his captors, the thought of Dean going up in flames causing his stomach to churn and his mind to shut down completely.

The hurricane of despair and rage and agony was abruptly stopped when something hard and blunt slammed into the back of his head.

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><p><em>To be continued...<em>


	2. Chapter 2

_Trust me. I know what I'm doing. :-) On with it!  
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><p><strong>Chapter 02<strong>

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><p>The first sense returning to him was hearing. It was quiet, except for a few muffled voices and the sound of heavy boots on a wooden floor. No cars. No typical city noises.<p>

Blinking heavily, Sam tried to focus on the task of staying upright, until he noticed that he couldn't do otherwise thanks to the fact that he was bound to a chair. His head hurt like hell, he was sweating like a pig, his throat was desert dry, he felt like throwing up and something was nagging at him.

He straightened slowly, swallowing when a wave of nausea hit him full force. Concussion. Thank you very much.

Sam concentrated on the floor boards, tried to put the pieces together of where he was and why he was here and where the hell...

Oh God.

"Dean..."

He looked around frantically, searching, ignoring the searing pain that shot through his skull with the sudden movements. He said his brother's name, over and over, whispers turned to shouts, turned to yells.

Realization crushed down onto him like boulders and he slumped forward, throat constricting painfully. Images flashed up in his mind, images he would never forget and never overcome.

_The deafening sound of a gunshot. Dean jerking and dropping to his knees. Mossy green eyes looking at him in disbelief before rolling back forever. His brother falling into hot desert sand, unmoving, his blood staining the ground._

Dean was gone. He had lost his brother a second time. And this time there might be no way to get him back.

Sam pulled at his restrains, a choked sob turning to whimper. The rope securing his hands behind his back cut into tender flesh but didn't budge. The chair underneath him let out a protesting creak, but didn't even move.

It took him ages to calm down. Took ages for Sam to get a grip, even if it wasn't a tight one. But panic wasn't helping. Giving up wasn't helping. Wasn't an option. He would have to get his head clear, no matter how. Only then he might find a way out. And then he might find help to get Dean back. Somehow. Maybe Ruby could help. Maybe this angel.

_Remember what dad taught you. Remember what I taught you._

Once again looking around the room through another veil of tears, Sam took stock of his options, only to come to the miserable conclusion that there weren't any. The chair he was tied to was obviously nailed to the floor. There were two doors, probably locked. The two windows were curtained off with cloths. Apart from this the large room was empty. No furniture. Nothing. The only noteworthy and at the same time disturbing thing was the large devil's trap painted to the ceiling.

They had talked about a ranch earlier, right? This was probably it. And given that Sam wasn't gagged and there were no noises from outside, the thing was probably located in the middle of nowhere.

Fantastic.

A familiar sound coming from outside reached his ears. One that caused his heart to leap instantly in his chest, sent joy through all his fibers, only to let him crumble and shatter to pieces the next second.

The Impala. Her deep rumble crawled through the gaps of the walls and filled the stuffy room, it was loud and clear even with all the wood between her and Sam.

_Not Dean. It's not Dean. Not anymore._

Sam closed his eyes. Did she sound different? If she felt that the hands steering her were stained with her master's blood? Once again every strength, every will to live and go on left Sam in one fluid movement. He listened to the engine of the heavy car in sorrow, listened on even when the sound faded.

In his stupor he didn't even flinch when one of the doors opened. Sam looked up at Kane wearily, watched him stroll into the room and come to a halt right in front of him. If only his hands were free. If he only had a gun. There was no cruelty in the world this man didn't deserve.

"Good morning, Sam. Sorry about the bump, but you became quite strenuous out there."

He then motioned at one of the men still waiting at the door, who brought another chair in and placed it next to Kane.

"Wait outside, please", Kane ordered while he turned the chair and sat opposite of Sam, leaning onto the back rest playfully. When the door closed, the two men were alone.

"How are you feeling?"

Sam narrowed his eyes, but didn't answer. Pure hate and disgust crawled up inside of him, the need to lash out almost impossible to hold back.

"Oh, okay. You're mad at me. I get that. I don't think a sincere 'I'm sorry' is enough, huh?"

"What do you want?" Sam spat at him through gritted teeth.

"Right down to business? Come on, I thought we might get to know each other a bit..."

"You killed my brother, you piece of shit. What makes you think I want to BFF with you?"

"Well, I told you why I had to do it, Sam." Kane sighed. "Dean's love and protectiveness towards you is one of the things every hunter knows. And admires, by the way. This line of business is tough, pure love is rare. But it's a weakness. The Winchester's Achilles heel. We could have taken your brother, too, could have had tortured him to make you do what we want you to do for us but I'm not a swine, you know. So we decided to wipe him from the earth's surface, problem solved and I can sleep like a baby at night, not worrying about Dean Winchester killing me in my well-earned sleep."

Again, Sam fought the tears. Again, he fought in vain. "I'm sure he'll find a way back, only to kick your ass..."

"No, he doesn't. You know, I just hugged Stevie welcome and he stinks of fire and burned flesh. Dean's gone, Sammy. Salted and burned. A real hunter's burial, minus the pyre."

Another wave of despair and agony hit Sam, threatening to tear him apart. Somehow there had still been hope. Somehow he had still thought Dean was alive, breathing, maybe just hurt. Suppressing an angry sob, the younger Winchester squeezed his eyes shut. He couldn't stand Kane being so near, couldn't stand looking into the other man's eyes.

"I'll get you something to drink, I'm sure you're thirsty." With that, Kane stood, his voice holding a softer quality now, "I'll be back later. Then we talk."

He went out of the room, leaving Sam alone and weeping.

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><p>The first sense returning to him was hearing. It was quiet, except for a soft rushing and ringing he couldn't pinpoint whether it was in his head or around him. No cars. No typical city noises.<p>

The second thing he noticed was pain. The mother of all headaches had decided to stop by. And God, it hurt. And he was hot. And thirsty. And felt sick as a dog.

Groaning, Dean tried to push himself up, failing miserably. He smacked his lips, grimacing when he felt sand between his teeth, crunchy and annoying. A strange burning sensation made itself known when he moved his head, his left temple pounding and pulsating in a weird rhythm.

With surprisingly large effort Dean managed to roll onto his back, cursing when the new position turned out to be pretty crappy, too. The sunlight hit his face like a hot waffle iron, and he could almost feel his skin blister.

Throwing a heavy arm over his eyes to block the offending heat and brightness and everything, Dean couldn't help but let out another groan.

_You got to play the decaying brother. How does that sound?_

_Wait, please…this isn't necessary…_

_No, Sam, YOU are useful. And I don't think I have to explain to you why it's not possible to hold you hostage and let Dean get away, right?_

_Stevie…don't do that….I'm begging you here. Come on, you don't seem to be a killer, do you. Please…_

_Sam, let it go…_

_Sleep well, Dean._

Dean flinched when the gunshot resounded in his memory and he pulled his arm away from his face, blinking confused towards the blue sky.

Sam. They had Sam.

And they had shot him.

Those sons of bitches had shot him.

Well, crap.

Slowly, he raised a trembling hand to his pounding temple. When his fingertips grazed the skin, a searing pain like an electric shock tore through him and his whole head started to hum. He pulled his hand back as if being burned and waited for the agony to subside.

"Sammy...?" he rasped, his face scrunching up to a burning grimace when his dry throat protested instantly. Over the piercing whistle in his ears he tried to make out an answer to his call, panic making itself known when there was none.

They really had Sam. Damnit.

Get a grip, Dean, get a fucking grip.

Okay, so he had been shot. In the head. Thing was...why was he still in the Arizona desert? Obviously alive, because this wasn't hell, and who could tell the difference better than him? And it was hopefully not heaven, because that would suck big time.

Geez, he needed to get out of this heat.

Rolling clumsily onto his side, Dean risked to open his eyes and take a look around. The sole task of keeping his head a few inches above the ground was almost impossible to fulfill. Black dots were dancing in front of his eyes while at the same time someone was busy ramming hot pokers into his skull.

There was nothing there except for a few boulders and a few offending cactuses. The road was empty. The spot where the Impala had been was empty. The van was gone, too. Sam. Their opponents. Gone.

Dean struggled to push himself up onto his knees, hissing when another trouble spot made itself known. His memories of being struck by the bullet were more then holey. Which was a funny thought, by the way. He couldn't really remember dropping to the ground, but from the way his left knee protested, it had taken the brunt of his fall.

Wasn't that just all beautiful. He was alone in the middle of the damn desert, with nothing to drink, no car, no shelter, one busted knee and a major headache thanks to a damn hole in his head, Sam was in the hands of lord-knows-who doing lord-knows-what...

Fan-freakin'-tastic.

Readjusting himself and taking the weight of his left knee, Dean noticed the red-stained sand he had obviously lain in.

This was his? All that was his?

Apalled, he couldn't help but raise another ginger hand to his temple, flinching again and cursing inwardly when another spike of pain shot through his skull. His fingertips came away bloody. So he was still bleeding, albeit less strong.

The kid had missed. Or rather...it hadn't. The bullet just hadn't killed him. So there were a few options then. Number one – he was dead. A ghost. But then, he wouldn't feel any pain, right? Number two – the kid had shot and missed so the bullet had only crazed his head. When had the Winchester luck been that generous? Number three – the bullet was stuck somewhere inside his skull and it was just a matter of time before he would drop dead.

He could live with any of those options. Or not. But he had to find Sam. And he had a few knuckle sandwiches to hand out.

Getting up onto his feet turned out to be a bitch. His whole body was a cacophony of pain and ouch and leave-me-alone-I'm-out-of-order. After Dean had managed to straighten at least to the point of not being confused with a Neanderthal man, the first response of his body had been throwing up.

Not helpful in his certainly dehydrated condition.

He had skipped the straightening and upright walking thing then and had stayed on his knees, on one knee, to be exact, and had dragged himself into the protective shadows of a large boulder, which had looked like a smaller conglomeration at first, but had switched to one single rock in the end.

Oh yeah, his head was completely screwed up.

Dean stared ahead, eyes on half-mast, licking his chapped lips. He needed to do something. Anything. Crawl into the next town. Crawl to the next gas station, wherever that was. Lying here, drying out was not an option.

"Damnit Sammy..." he rasped again, erupting into a coughing fit. So, talking was a bad idea, too.

What kind of trouble had they gotten into this time? Which kind of scum had gotten it's paws at them now? What did they want with Sam? Had it something do to with this demon blood thing? Those weirdo powers Ruby had claimed his brother had, the ones that might have had saved him from the pit?

Had Sam broken his promise he had given to him? Had Sam experimented with those powers while he had been in hell?

Dean let his head fall back against the rock, swallowing hard. It was stupid to stay here, hidden by the shadows. He should at least move towards the road. Which was also stupid, because there was no shelter from the sun. But at least there was a chance some passer-by might find him.

His cell was in the Impala. His gun had been removed by one of those assholes. He couldn't even finish the crappy job that kid had started if things got worse. As if things could even get worse at the moment.

* * *

><p>The room had been a feast for termites and wood worms in the past. Sam knew it because he had had time to count every hole and every furrow in the wooden panels until Kane returned, reoccupying his chair in front of Sam wearing one of his ugly smug smirks.<p>

"Howdy. You doing alright?"

Sam looked at him through hooded eyes, "Back off. Do yourself and me a favor, take your gun and kill me already."

Kane let out a snort, "And destroy such a powerful weapon? How could I?"

"What the hell are you talking about? I'm no weapon, I'm not..." He paused, reconsidering the words he was about to say. Did they know? About him and Ruby?

No. Not possible.

"We happen to know you are, Sam", Kane stood from his chair and started to walk around in the empty room, "See, we're hunters, just like you. We own a lot of weapons against every creature, just like you. Thanks to you and Dean and the Impala we now own a few more. That arsenal in the trunk is pretty impressive. And that journal we found? Your fathers, I guess? It's very useful. Oh, and did you know that Dean had one, too?"

Sam's blood ran cold. "Don't you touch it, you bastard", he yelled, pulling at his restrains with such force that he flinched from the pain they caused.

"Nu-uh, can't do that, kiddo. Too much interesting information. Not very much about you, though." Suddenly Kane was behind Sam, whispering into his ear. "You never told your brother, did you? Dean never knew about those special powers. I wonder how you sleep at night, Sammy. Not very nice. And here's me thinking you've been so close."

"Shut up", Sam hissed, Kane's words stinging, every syllable like a knife, stabbing into him, because they were true. He had kept a major secret from his brother, had never found the right moment to talk to him since he had returned from the pit and now it was too late.

Because the time had never been right. He had promised Dean not to use them, had promised not to respond to Ruby's offer. He had actually ignored Dean's dying wish, how was he supposed to talk to him?

"We overheard those demons a few weeks ago", Kane spoke on, continuing to walk around, "they were talking about this special boy, with his powers to exorcise with his mind. A human...or maybe not, who cares...a hunter called Sam Winchester. We found that a pretty interesting thought and decided to look for you. You've been pretty hard to find, but eventually we did."

Sam didn't answer, just kept his eyes glued to the floor. This was bad. Really bad.

"We did a bit of research about you and your brother, asked around. I think I'm quite the walking encyclopedia of the Winchester family at this point. We learned that every way to you led through Dean. So we knew what we had to do. And now you're here. This is actually an awesome moment. You know, like meeting a famous person. I'm actually quite jittery here."

"And what do you expect now?" Sam growled, "You think I suffer from the Stockholm syndrome, all alone in the world and falling in love with you because I have no one else?"

"No, I don't think it's that easy. But I'll find a way, trust me."

* * *

><p><em>To be continued...<em>


	3. Chapter 3

_Wow. How did you enjoy the last episode? Guess that thing was pretty expensive, with those old cars alone. Anyway, let's switch into the desert again. Have fun!_

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><p><strong>Chapter 03<strong>

* * *

><p>At first Dean was sure he was seeing things. His blurry vision had built the nicest objects during the last hour or hours...whatever amount of time he had spent frying in the heat that didn't seem to cease. But when he finally realized that the dust cloud he was currently looking at was in fact accompanied by the sound of a car engine, it took him approximately 5 seconds to mobilize all the strength he had left in his tired muscles to drag himself forward.<p>

With a clenched jaw, hissing and swearing like a sailor every time his damaged knee touched the ground, Dean crawled towards the road. Shouting wouldn't help, he had no spittle left. Waving his arms might be an option, but it wouldn't be enough. Besides, he would fall flat onto his face if it weren't for his both hands.

Squinting against the sun, Dean tried to make out the distance between him and the passing car. It was almost too far away already. Damnit...there had to be a way...

When his fingers scraped over rocks and stones, he knew this was his only chance.

Sitting back, he grabbed a few and hurled them towards the car, the dust cloud almost hiding it completely from his view.

"Come on, come on", he panted, throwing stone after stone, almost yelping in relief when he heard the telltale _clunk_ when one of them impacted with the metal frame and the vehicle slowed down, coming to a halt in the middle of the road.

Breathing hard, Dean watched the car, a million thoughts running through his mind _God, I hope I didn't hit the driver_ he didn't dare to move _It's a police car...is that a freakin' police __car?_ but he just couldn't keep himself from swaying dangerously on his knees, his left one protesting massively.

Something was missing then, because the next thing he noticed was a shadow above him and someone pressing a water bottle against his mouth and a dominant voice coaxing him to drink very slowly.

_Slowly my ass._

Gulping down the cool liquid greedily, Dean was on a high for mere seconds until his throat seemed to cord like a gunnysack and he couldn't help but cough and splutter, the water he had just managed to drink exploding out of him.

"Easy...easy...what did I just tell ya?" Dean felt himself being pushed forward and someone rubbing gentle circles on his back. Although under normal circumstances he would fight tooth and nail against such a treatment from anyone else than Sam, it felt incredibly good and soothing at the moment.

"You okay? Hey! Are you okay? Let me take a look at you..." Two soft hands gripped the sides of his face and he blinked into a pair of green-brown eyes, framed by tiny dark-blonde curls.

"That's it", the woman cooed, pushing Dean's head gingerly from side to side, "You look terrible." She was indeed a cop, a Sheriff, to be exact, the star attached above her left breast pocket gleaming in the sun.

Just his luck.

"Well...thank you", Dean managed, the task of talking almost impossible to bear, and he erupted into another coughing fit.

"Shhh...here, take the bottle. Slow sips, okay? I mean it. Wait here, I'm calling an ambulance."

She started to rise when Dean grabbed her arm. "No...don't need one..."

"You're kidding, right?"

"Absolutely not. I don't..." Damn, talking hurt. Thinking hurt. Just damn being hurt. "I don't have time for that..."

"You don't have time for that?" She raised her eyebrows and tilted her head. "Can you tell me what happened to you? What are you doing out here? Are you alone or is someone else out there?"

Dean ran a clumsy hand over his face. He wasn't sweating, which was probably a bad sign. He was running a fever and he was nauseous. And even after drinking something he didn't feel better. A hospital was indeed what he needed right now. But it would take too much time. Would erase any tracks those sons of bitches had left. He couldn't afford to lose any single minute.

"Listen...I need...a ride into town...and a motel. That's all, okay? And I..." Dean hesitated, pondering whether he should say what he was about to say or not. "I need to make a missing people report."

He knew it was risky. Asking a cop for help. But right now she was his only real chance, the only mark where to begin. And he had done it once, right? It was long ago. And it had worked back then. It might work again.

He prayed it would.

The officer looked at him. "What's your name?"

Again, he hung back. Was it wise to use his real name? Was it wise to use a fake one? "Dean."

"Okay Dean, I'm Sheriff Annie Brewster. Has somebody been with you? Do we need a search party? Is there someone out there in the desert?"

God, this fucking cop-gobbledygook...Dean was about to punch the ground he was currently sitting on. Did he look like a freakin' retard?

"Listen...Sheriff Brewster...Annie..." he replied, calmly but trembling with impatience, "My brother and me have been mugged, he's been kidnapped. Please, I don't need a hospital, I don't need medical attention, all I need is a way out of this sauna and..." He stopped, his throat constricting again and his vision wavering.

Oh yeah, that was pretty convincing. He didn't need medical attention. Not at all.

When he saw clear again, Dean looked up at the Sheriff, certain he'd met a 'My ass' glare on her features. He was surprised to find her chewing on her bottom lip, visible quarreling with herself.

"I'm going to run into trouble", she said, more to herself while she looked over to her car. Then she met Dean's eyes again. "Here's my offer: I take you to the police station with me, there I'm going to check you over while you're going to tell me what happened. When you pass out or so much as blink a second too slow for my liking, I'll drive you to the ER myself. Are we clear?"

Dean closed his eyes in relief before he tried to flash his savior one of his 1.000.000 watt smiles. It wasn't stronger then candlelight however, but he hoped it would work nonetheless, "Clear."

God, this felt like a day spa.

A couch, he sprawled right on it, an air conditioned room, a cool cloth on his face, the knowledge that a huge jug filled with water stood beside him on a table, solely reserved for him.

Until he smelled antiseptic and shortly afterwards felt the sting of it on the wound at his temple. He hissed, but managed not to jackknife. This was one hell of a weird kind of pain.

"I'm sorry", Sheriff Brewster mumbled, engrossed in her medical treatments, "what is this? Have you been hit?"

"You could say so", Dean answered, pulling the cloth from his face, "Bullet."

She stopped her ministrations and stared at him. "Come again?"

With a sigh, Dean pushed himself up, cringing when the room started to spin. This was taking far too long, but he wasn't in any condition to do anything at the moment. He needed to let the Sheriff help him, at least to the point where he would be able to walk on his own again.

"Me and my brother Sam were on our way to the Grand Canyon when a bunch of yahoos decided to lure us into a trap. They put a bullet into my head…well, they tried…and took my brother."

Annie shook her head in disbelief. "I guess you're one lucky kid to meet the worst shooter of all time", she offered softly and took another good look at Dean's head. "It might be just a scratch, but it's pretty deep. Seriously, you shouldn't jump around on your two feet."

"Look..."

"I mean it." She threw the bottle of antiseptic back into the first aid kit with a little more force that necessary. "You've been out there in the desert sun for, what, one or two hours? From the way you look you're suffering from a heat stroke, you're dehydrated and there's a damn bullet wound in your head. Oh, and how's your knee? I'm sure falling uncontrolled onto the sun-baked ground did a number on your kneecap."

Dean pulled his head back. "How did you notice about my knee?"

"Well, you haven't been walking quite much on your own but the few times you did, you were limping."

"You know, you sound as if you're pretty worried about me..."

"One should be worried about your health, and it's obviously not you."

The Winchester let out a sigh. "Sheriff Brewster, I'm glad you found me and I'm grateful you're willing to nurse me back to health, but my worries are directed at my brother and him alone at the moment. As long as he's out there I won't pause and I won't say 'Hello' to any doctor. I'm going to find a car and I'm going to look for him."

"All alone?" she challenged, "With no lead?"

"If I have to, yes."

They fell silent and Brewster signaled at Dean to turn his head. "What do they want with your brother?" she asked, continuing to check the wound, "Sam, right?"

Dean clenched his jaw, not only because of the unpleasant stinging. "I don't know but I will find out, believe me."

"Are you rich? Anything that might be interesting for bad guys to take him hostage?"

"No."

"Anyone seeking revenge? Any enemies?"

It was almost too funny and Dean couldn't help but snort. "Loads of those, trust me. But I don't think that's the reason they took him."

"Okay, so what do you think is their reason?"

He looked at her. He wished he had an answer to that. Because if he had, it might be easier to find Sam's captors. He didn't know who or _what_ they were. From they way they had handled things Dean was sure it had been humans. Demons wouldn't have had pussyfooted around. That kid had hesitated when that dick had ordered to kill him. A demon wouldn't have hesitated one second.

Some normal people with a score to settle? Hunters, maybe? Friends or family of that poor guy Sam had killed back in Wisconsin when he was possessed? Steve Wandell?

_No, Sam, YOU are useful._

"Does the name 'Kane' ring any bell?" Dean asked Brewster. "Ever heard of someone like that? Tall, blond short hair, five-day-beard, dressed in hessian, looks like a Robinson Crusoe reject?"

She frowned, thinking for a moment before she shook her head. "No. Is that one of your attackers? You could take a look into our rogue's gallery, check the pictures. Maybe you find him there."

"Yeah..." Dean rubbed his burning eyes. He doubted that there was anything in that gallery. But it was worth a try. In any case he should call Bobby, tell him what had happened. And maybe the old man could keep his eyes and ears open for any hunters in search for trouble with the Winchesters.

"Okay", the Sheriff clapped her hands, put the first aid kit aside and looked at Dean. "You still look like crap. But I get it, there's no way I'm able to convince you to see a doctor, right?"

"Have I passed out or blinked too slow for your liking?" Dean challenged, smirking at her. "Because as far as I know that was the deal."

She raised both hands in a mock surrender. "Just wanted to try one more time. Let's get to work then, shall we. I need to know everything you know, the car you've been driving, the car they were driving, the exact time everything took place, the more you remember, the better."

* * *

><p>"One last time – how are you doing it?"<p>

The question was asked very calm and surprisingly friendly, but Sam knew that Kane's insides were boiling.

"The answer's still the same, I don't know what you're talking about." He wasn't surprised when a left hook impacted with his face and his head was thrown sideways.

"How. Are. You. Doing. It."

"Why are you so sure about those powers I reportedly have? Demons lie, you're a hunter, you should know that." Sam moved his jaw gingerly from side to side, wincing when it made strange cracking noises.

Kane was a pretty patient man, Sam had to give him that. The questioning had started about half an hour ago, the man sounding like a damaged vinyl, while Sam did the best to sound likewise. At his wits end, Kane had started to throw punches. And he had a damn hard fist.

Nothing Sam couldn't handle, though. Before he was going to reveal anything, they had to haul out bigger guns than a calloused hand.

Plus, he was the man with nothing to lose. He didn't care what they did to him.

Kane stared at him for mere seconds before he turned away forcefully, mumbling something. Then he hollered towards the door, "Parker, Morrie, get him in!" Warily Sam watched the door being opened and two of Kane's men stumble in, a third person between them, his head hidden beneath a sack with some cryptic symbols on it.

_Demon_, Sam thought, narrowing his eyes. A dark sense of foreboding engulfed him.

The men, Parker and Morrie, dragged the writhing, grunting man into the middle of the room and placed him onto the chair Kane usually occupied. There he stilled, the devil's trap on the ceiling working it's magic. When Kane pulled the bag from his head, the demon's eyes darted through the room uncertainly. His mouth was hidden by silver duct tape.

"Sam", Kane started, leaning against the wall, "say hallo to Eric." The demon flinched at the mention of his host's name and lowered his gaze. "When we found him, we were about to kill him with this..." Kane pulled something from his jacket, gleaming and way too familiar.

The knife. _Their_ knife.

So they had rummaged through the Impala's trunk, had probably taken all their weapons, had thrown away what was useless in their books and had called their own what looked interesting.

Damn. Damn you all...

"You recognize it, Sam, don't you. It's such a convenient weapon, that little thing. I heard about it, but I never quite believed that it was real until I found it in the depths of your brother's car. I'm actually eager to try how it works. But I'd love to give you the advantage. So. Dig in, Sammy-boy."

"I thought we were through with this", Sam answered, trying to hide is rage, "I told you, I'm not able to do what you want me to do. Why would I keep the knife if I could exorcise with my brain or mind or whatever you think I can do?"

Once again, Kane came too close for his liking. "I'd say for Dean", he spat, "Remember, he didn't know about your hoodoo. He believed in the knife."

"Stop talking about him or I swear..."

"You swear what? What are you going to do? Do I look scared or worried to you? I tell you what, I'm scared for Eric here. Because normally, Eric is a young father. He has a beautiful pregnant wife and a cute toddler at home and they're all looking for him as we speak. But right now, young Eric is trashing and screaming inside his own body because the demon won't let him go. You could help him, you know?"

Sam swallowed and looked at the man opposite him. He was indeed not much older then 26 or 28. "If the personal history of every possessed person we hunt down would make me weep I'd say I'm in the wrong business, don't you think?"

The words coming out of his mouth were painful. Because it were exactly those personal histories that were one of the reasons making him proud of the powers Ruby had taught him. They saved people. Possessed humans had a chance to return to their normal lives, to return to their loved ones without being slaughtered. For every demon they had killed one human life had been erased, too. And somewhere out there families were crying and grieving.

Sitting here, looking into the possessed man's wide eyes, knowing that there was a family out there, waiting, worrying – it nearly tore him apart.

"Aw, Sammy", Kane piped, "what happened to the good Sam Winchester?"

Sam clenched his jaw and glared up at Kane. "He died with my brother."

"Geez, you're resentful. So you're going to let us kill young Eric here, slash him up with this knife? You're a monster now, is that it?"

He met Eric's gaze again. There were raw emotions in the man's face, human, completely unnatural for a demon. If Sam didn't know better he'd say the man wasn't possessed at all. But then, he had had the pleasure handling those sneaky bastards long enough now to know that this was just another part of their M.O.

No, he wasn't a monster. But he couldn't give his secret away, either.

"You can call me whatever you want", Sam replied, his tone soft, "but I can't do what you want me to do. I'm sorry, Eric."

Eric's eyes widened and his gaze shot to the knife. For a second, the demon in him made itself known, the humans big, desperate blue orbs disappearing, leaving two pitch black lakes of hate and disgust in their wake. An unintelligible grunt escaped him and his face turned red with rage and anger before his whole demeanor changed again, the demon retreating into the depths of his host's body again.

"Well", Kane shrugged and took a step forward. Without hesitation he rammed the knife into the demon's neck.

Sam flinched and couldn't help but avert his eyes when the demon writhed and screamed through the duct tape, his short death struggle eventually coming to an abrupt end with his head dropping lifeless to his chest.

It was painfully silent for mere moments. Looking up, Sam stared at the demon's head. He felt something he shouldn't feel. Something he hadn't felt for years.

He felt pity. He felt regret. He felt guilt.

He had exorcised his first demon and therefore killed his first man at the age of 11. He hadn't wanted to. And it hadn't been planned. The plan had been for him to keep watch. Just plain stand guard. He had stood a few feet away from the bright green edges of the devil's trap their dad had painted on the floorboards of the old cabin. He remembered that he had been staring at the demon placed on a chair in the middle of it. He remembered that he had been scared shitless.

Turned out that dad had underestimated the power of the gaps between the old, ramshackle floorboards. Before he or Dean had noticed the mistake, it had been too late and the demon had broken loose, attacking Dean. Everything had happened so damn fast. Dad had started to chant a frantic exorcism while the demon had knocked Dean unconscious. In shock and panic Sam had put so many bullets into the host's body, forgetting every lecture about demons not being able to be killed by any weapon, that you had to exorcise them, that every wound or injury a demon sustained would only hurt the host, not the demon itself.

The exorcism had almost been finished when the demon had reached dad and had tossed him through the room with such fiery force Sam had been sure this had been it. Quick-witted, Sam had yelled the last few missing words of the rite at the creature, tears of fear and desperation running down his face – _Dad! Dean! Don't you dare leave me alone, I'm scared, what am I supposed to do?_ – until the demon had frozen, had thrown his head back and had escaped it's dying host in a giant cloud of black smoke.

Sam had collapsed to the ground at the same time as the dead man, completely out of it and crying.

_'Dean?'_

_'Yeah, Sammy?'_

_'Did I kill this man?'_

_'You did what you had to do, kiddo. Don't let this get to you.'_

_'But...I killed this man. It wasn't necessary. We could have saved him–'_

_'Don't, Sammy. Don't. Let it go. Things like that happen.'_

Sam hadn't slipped into Dean's bed very often anymore at that time. He had been 11 years old. After the events of that night he had. Had snuggled against Dean's back and had wept, asking God for forgiveness.

Dean.

Damnit, I miss you.

* * *

><p><em>To be continued...<em>


	4. Chapter 4

_I have to apologize, I've been lazy with the review replies this week. A fault confessed is half redressed, right? Stay tuned for replies, pals!_

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 04<strong>

* * *

><p>"There are six black vans registered in this county...you sure about the Arizona plates, right?"<p>

"I am but that doesn't mean they weren't using fake plates." Dean looked out of the window, rubbing the back of his neck. He considered it as an improvement that he had been able to stay upright on his two feet for more then five minutes. The whole lying around thing just wasn't raising his mood, even if he still felt like crap.

Brewster nodded dejectedly. "I'll let Jerry check the owners anyway. Maybe they made the mistake of using the real ones and we'll find them."

"Sounds like a plan. Thanks."

"You're up for something to eat?"

He turned away from the window, smiling at the Sheriff. "No. I'm good."

"When's the last time you had something to chew on?"

Dean realized that he had indeed to think about that. Food hadn't been his main worry during the last hours. The pure though of food caused his stomach to churn. "I don't know. But I'm not hungry, so I guess it doesn't matter."

"It does. You have to regain some strength."

"I'm strong enough. Besides, I'm sure I won't be able to keep anything, so it's okay, really."

She looked at him for mere seconds. "Okay then. Can't force you, can I." Then she turned her attention back to the computer monitor. She didn't look pissed or sad, still Dean felt bad for her. Geez, when had he become such a dick?

"Look, I'm sorry…", he started, "I don't mean to sound harsh or rude. I'm just worried and…I can't handle a not-functioning body very well. You can ask my brother, I'm the worst patient ever."

She looked up at him, presenting him an understanding smile before she turned the computer monitor towards him. "What do you think about our motel?" she asked, nodding at the website showed on the screen, "It's small, it's the only one in town and it's quite nice. Plus, if I'll book it you may be in for a bargain price."

Dean raised his eyebrows. "Sheriff's discount?"

"You could say so."

It took Sheriff Brewster less than five minutes to get a room for Dean. From the way she had chatted with the manager they knew each other. Gotta love small towns, right? At least Dean's complaints about empty vending machines or itching mattresses would be taken seriously for once.

Hanging up, she clapped her hands together, "Okay, room's ready and waiting for you. How about I drive you there? You could lay down properly, get some rest."

God, he felt like a teenager without a driver's license. "I can drive myself, I just need a car…"

"I won't let you drive anywhere in your condition, don't even think about it. You look as if you are about to keel over any second and as I have to protect my citizens as well as you I won't take that risk."

"What about Sam?"

"We're looking for him. And the van. And the Chevy. You gave us a very good description of those men who took your brother. We're working on it, Dean."

Dean slumped his shoulders, the feeling of helplessness causing his blood to boil. He was reluctant, had no intentions to rest while someone else was looking for his brother. It was his job. It was him who had to get his shit together, no matter how blurry his vision was, how bad his head hurt or how painfully his knee was throbbing.

On the other hand Sheriff Brewster seemed to take this 'case' very serious. And he had to admit that he trusted her.

Dean watched her while she read something on the monitor and made notes on a sheet of paper beside her. He had seen many cops in his life, but never had a uniform felt so out of place and at the same time alluring.

Annie had this almost doll-like appearance – she was petite and graceful, had those bright eyes and with the long afro-like curls she certainly aroused every men's protective instinct. Dean couldn't help but think of Nicole Kidman's first movie, 'BMX Bandits'. Only that Annie would most likely kick his ass for the thought alone. From her looks she would fit into a Kindergarten or a floral shop. But her demeanor and tough bearing screamed guns and hoodlums.

"Why are you helping me?" he asked softly, his exhausted gaze resting on her.

She glanced up at him. "Because I'm the Sheriff. It's my job."

"Yeah, but…maybe I shouldn't say this now but…" Dan chuckled, running a hand over his face, "I do have my experiences with different types of state authority, trust me. And I never met a Sheriff who booked me a room in a motel and would have gladly ordered me something to eat."

She paused, seemed to contemplate his words. Then she put the pen aside. "Let's say I feel responsible for you", she finally answered, "And I want to help you find your brother."

"Responsible for me?" Dean huffed out a laugh. "Last time I checked I'm of legal age."

"Well…you sure as hell don't behave like it." She laughed, a heart-warming, refreshing laugh, one that seemed to slightly crack the tough exterior. Grabbing her car keys she got up. "Come on, let's get you out of here."

* * *

><p>Blinking his sleep-crusted eyes open, Sam wondered what exactly had woken him up. Or rather, what had happened that he had managed to fall asleep in the first place.<p>

A few pale rays of sunlight had found their way through the masked windows, indicating that he had indeed slept for a few hours, because last time he had been aware it had been pitch black, night closing in.

With a groan, Sam tried to roll onto his back, succeeding only halfway-through before his shackled hands stopped him, forcing him back into the fetal position he had obviously spent the night in.

After the demon…Eric…had been killed and dragged out of the room, Kane had ordered to get Sam into a more comfortable position for the night. 'More comfortable' had turned out to be a dirty mattress on the ground, Sam's hands both shackled in front of him and chained to a steel lug attached to the floorboards. While the new position on the floor had been a blessing for Sam at first, it had been as nasty and painful with every passing hour, his right side protesting and demanding a change, movement, anything.

The physical pain was bearable, though. With him being alone, rumination started. Memories assaulted him once more. Being shackled or hit or forced to hold a position for too long wasn't torturous.

Thinking was.

Relieving Dean's death over and over again. Images in Sam's mind mingling, hell hounds and bullets, a living room and the desert, demons and hunters, the same expression on Dean's face – wide mossy-green eyes, staring up, staring at him until staring no more.

Whenever Sam had drifted into something that had nothing to do with a peaceful slumber, Dean's voice had pulled him back, had kicked him awake in the most agonizing way, only to repeat the game over and over again.

Sam had tried to call for Ruby, again and again, with his mind at first, with his voice later. Had whispered her name, had begged her for help, because he was done. His powers weren't enough to get him out of this, his will to go on wasn't either.

Darkness caused the body to release melatonin. Melatonin caused fear, sadness and desperation. Being a hunter, being used to work in the dark, Sam should know. He had always felt the pull of despair at night. But he had never given in, because he always knew why everything felt a little more sinister at night.

Eventually, he had cried himself into sleep. It would explain his burning, swollen eyes. And why he was feeling as if he hadn't slept at all.

Pulling himself upright, struggling with the shackles and his long limbs, Sam leaned against the wall and watched the dust dancing in the streaks of sunlight. His stomach growled angrily, reminding him that he was living off water since he was held captive here.

Tentative, shuffling steps sounded from outside and Sam shifted, turning his attention to the door. Great, what was next?

When the door opened, Sam didn't recognize the person entering the room as it was still too dark and the man's face was turned away from him. However, when he approached him, carrying a brown, greasy paper bag, Sam looked straight into his face.

And saw red.

"You…", he spat, clenching his jaw to the point where it hurt, fists balled to murder weapons, every muscle tense, poised to strike.

The man stopped his approach abruptly and took a small step backwards again.

"You really have the guts to come near me", Sam hissed, his voice dripping with venom, "One step closer and I'm going to rip your fucking head off."

A muscle jumped in the kid's jaw and he looked down to the floor, starting to knead the paper bag. "This is breakfast", he offered softly, "Kane thought you might be hungry."

Sam's eyes darted to the bag briefly before his heated glare jumped back at Stevie. "I think I'll pass, thank you very much. Now get the hell out."

Stevie kept staring at the floorboards and nodded while Sam shot daggers into his direction. Normally he wouldn't treat someone like this. Normally he'd get all protective when it came to kids, children, innocents.

But this kid wasn't innocent. Little Stevie could consider himself fortunate that Sam was in chains.

Reluctant to move, the other man remained on his spot, gripping the bag like a lifeline.

"I didn't mean to do what I did."

The soft spoken words hit Sam like a thunderbolt. He blinked, disbelief and anger causing him to freeze.

"Excuse me?" he whispered.

"I never wanted to kill your brother."

Again, Sam felt the familiar sting of tears in his already burning eyes, but he blinked them away. A lump formed itself in his throat, he had the feeling he'd suffocate. What, was the kid messing with him now? What did he want to say?

"Maybe…" the Winchester snarled, his mind reeling, "just maybe…the next time you're aiming a fucking gun at somebody's head…maybe you should keep telling yourself just that. Because that's what happens if you pull a trigger. Somebody dies."

Stevie didn't move, stood like a stuffed dummy, fidgeting with the bag's edges. "I never wanted to kill anyone." His voice was calm and quiet, holding a slight tremor. He was struggling with his emotions just like Sam did. "Guess I had bad company. Pulled me onto a slippery slope and I just couldn't hold on to something. I'm sorry. What I did…I don't know if I'll ever get over it. I've shot a man. I've ruined your life. And mine, too. The only thing I can do now is standing here in front of you and ask for your forgiveness."

Sam stared at the boy. Took in his pale, haggard appearance. He looked like some student he could have had met in Stanford, maybe a bit rough around the edges, but with the right age and the good looks to have a lot of fun and success on a campus. There was a golden chain around his neck, a trinket dangling from it, looking like a helix of some kind. A gift from a girlfriend? A gift from his granny?

Maybe in another life. Maybe in another dimension, with Sam being a student, too. With Dean being a mechanic. And with mom and dad being there, living their own life with the kids out of the house. With the supernatural being what it was supposed to be – a lore, a story, a bad dream, non-existent. Or at least an issue someone else would take care off.

He looked up at Stevie, held the kid's gaze. Slowly, he shook his head. "I won't forgive you, Stevie", he said through gritted teeth, "I can't."

Stevie looked to the floor again, nodding dejectedly. "Okay. I guess that's fair enough." He swallowed and started to toe a nail sticking out of the floor.

Both men fell silent. Sam pulled one hand up as far as he could and rubbed his eyes, the rattling of the chains deafening. He didn't know what to think anymore. He had said the truth. He couldn't forgive. Just why was it so hard? Why was it so hard to hate that kid, standing in front of him with glistening eyes, apologizing, obviously searching for help?

"I didn't burn him, you know."

Sam's head shot up. "What?"

"I couldn't. I know, I disobeyed an order and if Kane finds out, I don't know what he's going to do to me but…" Stevie met Sam's eyes again. "I left him where…where he…you know. I'm sure someone has found him by now and…I don't know if you have family out there but if you have, police might find them and they'll take care of…well…a proper burial. All that."

Frozen in shock, Sam stared at him, utter disbelief scattering his thoughts and emotions into all directions like billiard object balls after the rack's being broken.

Dean was still…Dean. No pile of ash. Not lost completely. There was a chance, right? If Dean's body was still intact…somehow, the thought was kinda soothing. But then, what if no one had found him? If the vultures had been faster? If he was still lying out there, surrounded by…No. Nono. Police. If someone found Dean, police would be involved. Would they find traces? Was it possible they could find him? Family. Would they find Bobby? God. And what if demons found him first? Possess his brother's body? Was its even possible, did demons possess dead bodies? What if Dean would return? A vengeful spirit. Oblivious to the fact that he was dead.

Sam's mind was racing, not able to process the news, his heart still trying to decide whether it was a good or a bad thing that Dean's body…Dean…hadn't been burned…

He looked up at Stevie once more. "What about the smell…Kane said you smelled like…"

The kid shrugged. "I knew he would notice. I burned a roadkill." His gaze fell on the greasy bag in his hands. "I'll leave this here with you. Maybe you'll get hungry after all."

Sam watched him step forward, bending over a few inches away from him, putting the bag on the floor. When Stevie started to retreat, he sprung to action.

He swung one of his long legs, literally swiped Stevie off his feet in one graceful movement. The kid cried out in surprise and landed hard on his side with a thunderous thump. Before the fallen man could regain some composure, Sam gripped the collar of Stevie's jacket and pulled him close, the chains just long enough for him to act.

The fight was short-lived. A gun shot caused Sam and Stevie to freeze. At the door stood Kane, flanked by three other men, his weapon aimed at the ceiling.

"The next one won't be a warning shot", he rumbled, "let him go, Sam."

Sam hesitated, but finally let go of Stevie who frantically scrambled away from him. The Winchester balled his fists.

"Why wait?" he growled, "Do it, come on."

"Oh, I wouldn't kill you, you know that. But a bullet through your knee or your ear lobe is certainly not very comfortable." Kane regarded Stevie with a scornful glare. "Get out of here, moron."

Stevie did what he was told and slipped past Kane like a kicked puppy, followed by the other men. Kane watched Sam for a moment longer, adding a "TskTskTsk" and a shake of his head. He then holstered his gun and walked out, slamming the door shut behind him.

Sam deflated and let himself drop back against the wall. He loosened his balled fists and inspected the golden chain with the shiny helix which rested now in the palm of his right hand.

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><p><em>To be continued...<em>


	5. Chapter 5

_Oops, I'm late today, sorry! Enjoy this chappy!_

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><p><strong>Chapter 05<strong>

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><p>"I don't know where to look, Bobby, I don't know where to start." Dean let his head fall against the window and closed his eyes. The last night had been one of the worst ones in his life. It had been a rollercoaster ride from slumber to laying awake and brooding, from feeling crappy to feeling more or less okay. The only constant had been worry and fear for his brother – it had never ceased, had only been a rampant growth.<p>

"_And you sure you haven't seen those guys before? No outstanding score to settle, no unresolved business? I happen to know that the list of people you've pissed off over the last years is long enough to gift-wrap my house with."_

"No. I've compiled a list myself last night, there's no one who might be connected with them."

"_Something your dad might have been involved into?"_

"I don't think so." Dean turned away and started to pace again. The carped should resemble a deeply rutted road by now.

He had thought about that, too. Had tried to scroll down the list of names in dad's cell phone mentally, because unfortunately the damn thing was in the Impala's trunk. He couldn't recall a 'Kane' or a 'Stevie'.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Dean let out a sigh. He dreaded the next question. "Bobby, has Sam done anything when I was gone?"

"_You mean, done anything as in done anything stupid while you were having fun in the pit?"_

Dean winced. "Exactly."

"_I told you, he went quiet, then vanished from the radar. I haven't heard from him for months, so I don't know what he might have done and what not."_

Dean nodded and ran a hand over his face. God, he needed a drink. And a family sized package of Tylenol. In that order.

"_You think he has been m__essing around with those mystic__al powers of his, am I right?"_

"I don't want to think that but there's no other explanation."

"_What about this demon lady you two had glued to your butts? Ruby?"_

The demon's human form appeared before Dean's inner eye briefly before switching to the ugly creature he had been able to see those few hours before the hell hounds had fetched him.

_You're almost hell's bitch, so you can see hell's other bitches._

Dean shuddered, pushing the memories aside. "I don't know what happened to her. Lilith must have kicked her someplace else, I'm not sure if she's still wandering earth's green fields or if she's gone forever."

He snatched the pamphlet of the local diner from the small table and studied it, trying to figure out if his stomach was up to something else then water and coffee. He grimaced at the sight of greasy fries and burger.

Obviously not.

"_How are you, kiddo?"_

Slightly taken aback by the almost fatherly tone he received from the other man, Dean sank onto his bed. "That's a pretty stupid question, Bobby..."

"_No, idjit, I mean beside your aching brotherly heart. It's pretty rare I'm having conversations with people who have been shot in the head, I can give you that."_

"I'm alright."

"_Yeah, I thought I'd get that answer. You don't sound like it. Have you even considered to see a doctor?"_

"No. And I won't see one until I have Sam back." Dean studied his boots. "Damnit, I'm stuck here with no leads and no car."

"_Where's the problem, steal one."_

Dean shook his head. "Nah…" As if he hadn't thought of it already.

"_What, you don't want trouble with your new girlfriend?" _Was there a sneer in Bobby's voice?

"What the hell are you talking about–"

"_She's a cop, Dean. I still think you've injured your brain far worse then you let on if you're working with the town Sheriff. Remember that you've been public enemy number one for quite a long time? Only because this Henricksen guy isn't after you anymore doesn't mean the case is closed."_

He knew that. Of course he knew. His tingling senses reminded him of that fact every time he saw anything police-related. But this was a chance. Maybe his only one. The moment he had enough information or the tiniest lead he'd be gone from this town.

How came that thinking like that didn't seem right to him?

"I'm careful, don't worry."

"_Well, I hope so."_

A knock startled Dean and he looked up, frowning. "I gotta hang up now."

"_You sure you don't want me to come down?"_

"Yeah, I'm sure. Just put out your feelers about that Kane-guy, okay? See if you can find anything about him."

A grumbled 'Yep' reached Dean's ear before he dropped the cell onto the nightstand. He stood gingerly, wincing when a spike of pain shot through his knee and sneaked up to the motel room door, his right hand moving instinctively to the small of his back. He cursed inwardly when he grasped at nothing.

The knock sounded again, this time accompanied by a familiar muffled voice. "Dean?"

Tension left his body and he took one final glance through the peephole before he opened, greeting Sheriff Brewster with a genuine smile.

It felt actually good to see her. He just wasn't used to being alone.

"Hey. Good Morning."

She returned his smile and raised her eyebrows. "Good Morning. I was on the verge of kicking the door in."

"Impatient, much?"

"No. Worried. I thought you might need help in here."

"I told you, I'm doing fine."

"Uh-Huh." She raised a bag and held it up to his face. "Breakfast?"

The smell of scrambled eggs and pie reached his nose, accompanied by the compelling scent of fresh coffee. Under normal circumstances Dean would have snatched the bag from the Sheriff's hand and retreat into a corner to wolf the contents down wearing a satisfied grin.

"No, thanks", he replied instead, fighting the urge to scrunch up his nose in disgust.

"So much for doing fine." Brewster sighed and let the bag sink. "When do I get the pleasure to have lunch with you, huh?"

"When this is all over, I promise I'll eat. I might even invite you for dinner."

"Oh, really? I may take you up on that." They fell silent and Dean watched Brewster open the paper bag just wide enough to take a quick look at it's contents and roll her eyes in pleasure.

He was glad that she was here. Her presence felt soothing, just like the day before when she had found him in the desert. Her good mood this morning was the counterpart to his lone brooding and worrying and slowly going crazy from all the questions and things he didn't know.

She nodded towards the room. "May I come in?"

Routine forced him to hesitate, to think about the current condition of the room, the positions of the weapons or possible printouts pinned to the wall before he remembered that he currently owned jack squat.

He stepped aside. "Sure."

She entered the room and walked up to the table, placing the bag onto it. She then turned, tilted her head and looked at him. "How's your head? On a scale from 1 to 10, 1 being awesome and 10 being 'Shoot me now'?"

Closing the door and leaning heavily against it, Dean was about to tell her the truth, but decided to lie. "A constant 3." No need for her to know that it was more a 7 or 8…he couldn't handle a mother hen now. The Sheriff held his gaze and from the way she blinked Dean knew she had read his face.

_Please, let it go. Don't ask. I don't have time for this._

Brewster swallowed. "I have news on the mysterious black van", she offered, crossing her arms.

_Thank you._

"I hope they're good?"

"No, I'm afraid not. The van has been stolen about five days ago from a garage a few towns over."

"So that's a dead end then", Dean replied, running a hand over his face, "awesome." The first part of his hope crushed.

"We're not done yet, Dean", she offered softly, "there's still the rogue's gallery. I'd suggest we drive back to the station and you take a look at it."

"I don't know if this'll work, Sheriff. My gut feeling tells me those guys are too good. Not your average shorties and not from around here."

"Let's give it a try anyway. You have nothing to lose, right?"

Dean nodded, frustration and panic urging him to just slam his fist against the door or the wall, whatever he could reach first.

"It's Annie, by the way."

He looked up at her, blinking in confusion.

"This whole 'Sheriff' thing makes me feel old and far too masculine, so, as I'm your personal cop now and I'm calling you by your first name, let's skip the formalities, shall we?"

Dean raised his eyebrows. "My personal cop? Has that something to do with feeling responsible for me?"

Annie shrugged. "Let's say you're my most interesting case since I'm working in this town."

"Interesting?" Dean wasn't sure if he should feel flattered or angry. He huffed out a laugh and rubbed his eyes. "Listen…Annie", he started, "this is dangerous. And I'm not talking about earning bruises and bumps. I don't know who those guys are but I know they're everything but harmless. I appreciate your help, really, I do. But...how about you try to find out whatever you can, give me the heads up and then I'm out of here."

"The man who doesn't worry about himself is worried about me now? I'm no rookie, Dean..."

"I mean it", Dean admonished, using the same phrase Annie had thrown at him the day before, "Please. Let me do this on my own."

How could he reason with her that this might be completely out of her league? He didn't want Annie in the line of fire, mo matter if it was human or supernatural. Because dragging her into this meant jeopardizing her life. Since when did innocents ever come out of a Winchester case unharmed?

"Why can't I get rid of the feeling you know something?" Annie narrowed her eyes at him. "I thought you don't know who kidnapped your brother?"

"I don't."

"So how come you can talk about those people like that? How do you know that they're dangerous and 'not' harmless?"

"I just…" Dean stopped, knowing full well that he couldn't give her the explanations she wanted. But he couldn't keep her completely in the dark, either. She was far too smart for that. "Look, the business my brother and me are working in, it's...well, let's say you don't want to share a cab with everyone who's involved, that's all. I don't know if those guys have anything to do with our business, but if they do, it's really best not to tangle with them."

Annie looked at him, considered his words. "No offense", she started, pushing herself off the table and walking up to him slowly, "this is my town. And if those people make a racket in my town, I'll stop them. It's no problem for me to provide you with information and it's no problem for me to let you wander off on your own. As you said, you're an adult, you can do whatever you want." She stopped right in front of him, and even with their difference in height and her necessity to look up, she appeared surprisingly menacing. "But handling those 'dangerous' dicks? Leave it to me whether I am a part of it. Let's see who's best not to tangle with, shall we."

The green-brown of Annie's eyes had turned to an almost pure ocher, the normally soft expression now heated and belligerent. Dean didn't know if he should feel intimidated or impressed.

He cocked his head, the shadow of a smirk on his face. "Barbed words for someone smelling of vanilla." Because she did. And it was disturbingly drawing.

For a moment, Annie didn't react. If possible, her glare darkened even more. Then she slapped Dean's chest with the back of her hand. "You're an ass", she hissed, s small smile softening her features. She grabbed the paper bag and slipped past him, "Let's go. I'll eat your breakfast and you have to watch."

* * *

><p>About one hour after the little incident between Stevie and Sam, another poor soul was dragged in when Kane strolled into the room. They didn't bother to haul Sam up this time, kept him on his mattress on the floor.<p>

This time the demon was a woman, small and stout, her angry shrieks muffled by the bag over her head and obvious duct tape over her mouth. She was fighting like a maniac, giving her escort a very hard time by trying to claw and hit them.

"Must be a déjà vu", Sam snarled, straightening and shifting uneasily. He still didn't know where this was leading, how many demons Kane had up his sleeve and how long he would continue to haul them into this room.

"You could say so", Kane replied, waiting for his men to position the writhing bundle on the chair beneath the devil's trap. He smiled when the trashing stopped instantly once the demon was finally in place. "Then I guess I don't have to tell you what happens next."

Was that ass really thinking he could apply pressure on him by killing them in front of his eyes? Kane had put himself into a blind alley all by himself. By killing Dean he had thrown away the only leverage that could have possibly worked on Sam.

"Let me guess...you're going to tell me to use my magic dust, I'm going to tell you that I don't have a clue what you're talking about and then you're going to kill this demon with the knife?"

"Exactly!" Kane pulled the bag from the woman's head. She whirled around and was about to jump into his face like a wild cat, but was held tight by three of Kane's men. She didn't care about the duct tape, didn't seem to give a rat's ass about the trap painted on the ceiling and continued with her shrieking and grunting. Kane stepped up to her and crouched down very close to her, grabbed her chin hard with one hand and yanked her whole head close to him.

"I'm not your problem", Kane hissed into the demon's furious grimace and pushed her head towards Sam, "He is."

She only froze for a few seconds before she jumped from the chair and was about to lunge at Sam, but instead slammed against an invisible wall. She crumpled to the ground, her screams dying down to angry whimpers.

"How about we do this quick, huh?" Kane asked impatiently, "She's grating on my nerves."

"What? No heartbreaking story today?" Sam scoffed, fighting the urge to crawl backwards, away from the demon who was obviously a ticking time bomb. His fingers tightened around the necklace he still held hidden in his fist.

"Oh yeah, Holly here, see, this beautiful red-head is a marvelous woman, has many, many friends and is the kindest person you and me will ever meet in our shitty little lives...but right now I'm kinda annoyed by her demonic form so let's make this short. So, you or me?"

Sam glared at his opponent and slowly shook his head in disgust. "You're doing this for kicks, right? Do you make those stories up? Why? What makes those abilities I'm supposed to have so damn important? You shouldn't waste your time with this, with me."

A smug smile appeared on Kane's face and he tilted his head. "When it comes to my motives you can put me into one row with all the baddies from any James Bond movie. Craving for power. The need to be the best. Better than the best. To own a weapon no one owns. Power is the magic word here, Sammy."

"Stop calling me that..."

Kane raised his eyebrows. "Oops, sorry, did I touch a nerve?"

Sam clenched his jaw and looked away. He needed to stay calm. Kane knew exactly which buttons he had to push and he did it with great relish. No, he wouldn't grant this sick fuck the tiniest triumph.

"Have you ever felt the need to have so much power, Sam? It's frightening how cold and merciless this need can people make. You'd sell you own grandmother."

Narrowing his eyes, Sam looked up again. Was this a trick question? Wasn't he the poster boy when it came to selling grandmothers to gain said powers? Hadn't it been him who had literally spat on Dean's grave by getting involved with Ruby, only to get exactly those powers to kill the one and only demon Sam wanted dead so bad that it hurt?

A few angry muffled grunts pulled Sam from his thoughts. The demon, Holly, was saying something, or rather, spitting something into their direction..

"Anyhoo...", Kane clapped his hands together, "what's it going to be, Sam? Magic or smithery?"

Sam shook his head, avoiding the demon's eyes. "Sorry. Can't do anything for you here."

It was one of Kane's men who had the honor of doing the dirty work this time. With one annoyed wave of his leader's hand the tall man stepped forward, pulling the knife from his jacket. He grabbed the demon's hair and pulled her up roughly, struggling to hold her when she renewed her efforts to express her displeasure.

There wasn't much time to fight, not for Holly, not for Kane's henchman. With one forceful motion he rammed the knife into the demon's temple, the powerful weapon unfazed by the hard cranial bone, burying itself deep into the demon's head. She froze for a moment before the demon clawed his way out of his human host in a firework of electricity and black smoke, causing Holly's body to jerk and shudder. Her features were distorted, her eyes switching briefly from blue to black and back to blue again before they slid close.

She slumped forward, landing as a lifeless heap on Sam's legs, who scrambled backwards until he felt the wall against his back. Damnit, this wasn't necessary. It was simple madness, and it made Sam sick to know that it was his fault that those people – Eric, Holly – had died this way.

"Get her out", Kane ordered and Sam watched him come closer. Was it wise to kick him in his furrowed, unshaved face? Probably not, but it would be darn satisfying.

When Kane knelt down in front of him and held out his hand, Sam froze.

"Give it to me." Kane's voice was friendly, almost soft. There was even the shadow of a smile visible.

Sam licked his lips. _No way._

"What, you think those weirdo powers come packaged?" he challenged, tightening his fists, feeling the pendant of the necklace piercing his palm.

Kane huffed out a laugh. "The necklace, Sam. Hand it out to me, please. See, I'm the one who gave the stupid little thing to Stevie years ago and I'm the one who notices when it's missing, even when the owner doesn't."

The Winchester held the other man's gaze. Should he bluff? Play dumb? Fight?

Sam had been careful not to underestimate the other man. Had realized how unpredictable and dangerous his opponent was. Still, when Kane's smug grin dropped from his face and he shot forward, gripping Sam's shackled hands in the blink of an eye, the Winchester was caught completely off guard.

The next thing Sam heard were two sickening cracks, followed by a dazzling pain in his fingers. He couldn't help but cry out in surprise and agony, his whole right hand throbbing. He felt his upper body tilt forward, dizziness and nausea taking his breath away.

Over the rushing in his ears and the keening noise that sounded awfully like his own voice, distorted and out-of-breath, Kane's deep timbre wafted into his awareness.

"I wish you hadn't made me do this."

Through his haze Sam noticed the necklace sliding from his trembling hand onto the wooden floor, where Kane picked it up carefully.

"You…son of a…bitch", Sam gasped, anger over his missed opportunity to get out of here overlapping the pain that was currently numbing his body.

"Yeah, I know." Kane stood and pocketed the necklace. "Could someone take care of him, please? Those bones need to be set."

Sam didn't fight when one of Kane's men approached him.

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><p><em>To be continued...<em>


	6. Chapter 6

_Freezing greetings to everyone in Europe! Geez, it's freakin' cold here in Germany, hope your heaters are all working properly?  
>So, I just checked my mails and noticed it's sunday already, huh. Guess you're waiting for this. Enjoy! Thanks for reading!<em>

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><p><strong>Chapter 06<strong>

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><p>It was already late in the afternoon when Dean had given up digging through the giant catalogue of murderers, robbers, sharks, every mug shot starting to look the same, beards, glasses, hair melting into one big mass scowling at him. It had been a stupid idea in the first place and it had felt pretty weird to sit there like Joe the plumber, skimming through all those pages.<p>

Grateful for the strong and hard working air conditioning in the police car, Dean watched the scenery pass by on their way back to the motel. He was bone-tired, felt like crap and worst of all he still had no leads. Nowhere to start. Nowhere to go. A big fat pile of nothing.

Sam could be dead already. Or hurt. Bleeding out somewhere. Stumbling through the desert. God, he didn't want to think about it.

Dean rested his pounding head against the window, hooded eyes taking in the bustling outside.

The town was your average hicksville, located in the middle of the desert with too much sand and too much sun for Dean's liking, but it was relatively beautiful. If it was because of the close proximity to America's place of interest number one and the therefore huge flow of tourists, or simply the townspeople's love for their place, Dean could only guess.

The Grand-freaking-Canyon. Damnit. If he hadn't been so eager to see the godforsaken crater landscape, Sam had never suggested their trip. They could have hunted something down a few states over and none of this wouldn't have happened.

He would kill those sons of bitches. And right afterwards he would kill Sam should he find out that little brother had kept secrets from him.

"Are you okay?"

Annie's question ripped him from his musings and he shifted, rubbing his throbbing knee. He had almost forgotten that she was beside him, steering the big truck.

She was great. Not only with her willingness to find his brother, but also with her way to handle him and his stubborn streak. She never forced him to take some Aspirin here or sit down for a moment there, but every time Dean found himself being steered into exactly the direction she had suggested without feeling patronized.

Also, he certainly would have had switched into full blown panic mode by now if it weren't for her.

"Yes...no...well", he sighed, "I will be when this is over and I have Sam back."

She nodded and concentrated on the street again. From time to time she raised her hand and greeted someone outside. It was obvious that she was highly regarded and much-loved by the townspeople.

"Yesterday, back at the Sheriff's department…you said you want to help find Sam", Dean asked, scrutinizing her.

"Yes."

"May I ask why? I mean, you don't know him. And actually, you don't know me, I could be all the same to you. Still you're so eager to help us out. Why are you so willing to put your head on the block for us?"

The ghost of a smile flashed over her face. It was both, pained and melancholic.

"I didn't become a Sheriff because of emancipation reasons", Annie explained, staring ahead, not keeping the traffic out of sight, "I never wanted to carry this star because of fame and fortune. I'm from LA, grown up in a not-so peaceful district. There have been a lot of murders and robberies in the neighborhood. When I was old enough to understand how it comes to crime, I...I don't know, maybe I have this protection gene...I wanted to do something about it. That's how I became a cop."

"Why didn't you become a lawyer? Or an attorney? A lot of law and order imposing without the danger of winding up as a sieve."

"And sit behind a desk all day, messing with paragraphs and a fountain pen? No, thanks."

Oh boy, would Sammy have loved that answer.

"Fair enough", Dean replied, fighting the urge to grin.

"I loved my job, I was with the LAPD for a few years and it was the best time of my life. But then my dad died and my mom got very sick. Unfortunately she doesn't live in LA anymore, moved here some time ago, so when it turned out that she's dependent on care I knew I had to come here, too."

"You don't seem too happy about it."

"I am." The answer came surprisingly fast. And didn't sound very convincing.

Dean's eyebrows shot up. "Annie. Seriously."

She huffed out a laugh. "Okay. Seems like I'm as easily predictable as you are, huh?" She then nodded towards the street. "See the old woman over there? On the bench? Mrs Field. She calls at the Sheriff's station at least once a week because of her cat. There's what...five trees in this town? The stupid cat manages to climb upon one of those every week and doesn't dare to climb down again. So Mrs Field calls us and we call the fire department, the whole shebang. And over there, the Forester family. Their eldest, Malik, he's just hit puberty, which means he tries things out. Staying out late, smoking, drinking too much. Malik's dad puts us on him almost every weekend, even if the kid's just having fun with a girl."

"It's not what you wanted", Dean stated softly.

"No. It's not…geez, I sound like a trigger-happy cowgirl." Annie snorted. "And then I find myself in a hail of pebbles and in the middle of a case that for once has nothing to do with saving cats or admonishing teenagers."

Dean smiled a smile that didn't reach his eyes and let his gaze wander along the cars parked at the side of the street. The fact that he had pulled her into this was still troubling him. How he wished it was only a missing cat they were dealing with.

"Holy crap..."

From the corner of his eyes he noticed Annie whirl her head around towards him. "What's wrong?"

Jerking back from the window, pressing his back into the seat and sliding down as far as possible Dean grasped her arm without looking at her, his focus solely on the sight he had caught outside. "Annie, listen to me. I need you to pull over, slowly, right here, right now."

His voice left no room for argument. She didn't follow his gaze to see what he was staring at, just slowed the truck down without questioning him and came to a halt at the side of the street.

_Good girl. Well trained._

"Dean? What is it?"

Trying to calm his nerves and thoughts, fighting the urge to laugh out at his luck, Dean exhaled slowly. "The other side of the street…grocery store." God, why did he sound so breathless.

Annie turned her head slowly. "Yeah?"

"The red pickup, you see it?"

"Yes."

"The guy leaning against the driver's cab?"

"I see him…"

"It's him…the freaky kid that shot me."

Annie paused, her eyes widening. "You sure?"

"Never been so damn sure in my life."

Dean never forgot faces. Especially those who had pissed him off. And people who had tried to kill him and had turned out to be too stupid to do so...man, those were on top of his list. The guy was apparently lucky Dean was trapped in a car and had time to deliberate instead of rushing out and rip the guy's head off on impulse.

When Annie nodded and reached for her radio, Dean's attention was diverted.

"What are you doing?" he asked, already dreading the answer.

"I'm calling for back-up."

Dean looked at her, raising his eyebrows. Of course, she was a cop. She was doing what she had to do in such a situation. Calling back-up. Waiting for back-up. Instructing the back-up.

No freakin' way.

"Whatever...give me your gun." Dean unbuckled his seat belt and reached for the door handle, his attention back on the kid who still leaned against the pickup, luckily still oblivious to the police car.

It was Annie's part to do the eyebrow raising now. "You want me to give you my gun?"

Of course this would lead to a discussion. Dean let out a sigh. "Look, I know you have to stick with the rules, calling back-up, talk to the suspect first, I get it, but this might be my only chance to get to Sam and I won't let it slip through my fingers. You can stay put, wait for your back-up, but as I'm no cop, I do this my way." He opened the door and slid out, staying behind the car door without letting the kid out of his sight.

"Dean, what the hell are you doing?" Annie hissed, looking at him, a million invisible question marks hovering above her head.

"Getting my brother", Dean hissed back, ducking his head when he saw another guy emerge from the grocery store and approaching the pickup.

"What? Alone? Dean you can't–"

_Stunt asshole #4, had aimed a gun at Sam's head. Welcome on the Dean Winchester list of doom, my friend._

Dean closed the car door as silent as possible and as forcefully as necessary, watching #4 and the kid climb into the pickup.

Showtime.

"Annie. Don't follow me", Dean commanded and began to move. He heard Annie call him once again but couldn't and wouldn't listen to whatever she had to say. He could imagine. That this was a stupid and dangerous idea. That he had no gun, no weapon, not even a freakin' paperclip to defend himself. That he wasn't on top of his game at all right now and if it came to an eye to eye with all those assholes, he would definitely get the short straw, wrapped in fancy paper.

The usual profound arguments Dean kept ignoring every time, right?

Crouching low, gritting his teeth when his knee protested angrily, Dean moved along the police car's fender and front and waited only a split second before he sprinted over the street where he came to a halt behind the pickup, staying down and listening for any reactions that he had been noticed.

For a guy with a hole in his head, a messed up leg and a heat stroke he was still surprisingly fast and stealthy.

He looked around briefly before he swung himself onto the truck bed and slipped quickly beneath the tarp, hoping he wasn't about to meet an angry dog or anything else unasked-for.

There wasn't. Except for a few logs, sacks and other typical farmer's stuff there was enough space to make himself comfortable. Dean rolled onto his back and froze, once again listening over his labored breathing if his cover was blown or not. It was hot and stuffy under the tarp and he had to squeeze his eyes shut to calm himself, the heavy material pressing down on him and the need to gasp for fresh, cool air instead of the plastic-filled, overheated one almost causing him to panic.

What were they waiting for? Where was the sound of the pickup's engine being fired up? Damn, had they noticed him? Had some passerby seen him and was reporting it to the driver? Crap. He had been careful enough, right? There hadn't been many people on the street. Did Annie...aw, please, hopefully she hadn't done her own thing.

"Come on", Dean whispered, swallowing down a cough, "Move."

When the pickup roared to life, Dean almost yelped in relief. Only to stop breathing completely when he heard the rustling of the tarp. Someone was pulling it up.

_CrapCrapCrap._

"You're buckets of crazy, you know that?"

Dean pulled in a sharp breath and raised his head a little, his eyes widening when Annie appeared, crawling up and coming to a rest on her belly next to him.

"What are you doing here? I told you not to follow me", Dean whispered, a mixture of anger and amusement cursing through him.

"Yeah, don't follow you with the truck because a police car is pretty conspicuous. You never told me not to join you on this magic carpet ride."

"You could lose your job."

"I'd lose it one way or the other if I wink at a person crawl into the back of a random car."

The pickup jerked to life and Dean grabbed instinctively for one of the sacks, clinging to it to avoid rolling around.

That girl. Unbelievable.

"I had to calm good old Mrs Doherty on my way to you", Annie chuckled softly, "she was about to blow your cover by yelling at the driver but when she saw me slip after you I guess she was convinced that it's okay."

Dean had to roll his eyes about that. Of course had he been stuck in the town of righteous people.

"So, what's the plan?" Annie asked, holding on to one of the other sacks. She was calm and composed, just as if she was crawling into pickup trucks on a regular basis.

"The plan is to get in, kick some asses, snatch Sammy and get out. What about that back-up? Did you call your cavalry?"

"How? I had to rush after you, there was no time."

"Do you carry any weapons beside your gun?"

"I can offer a baton and a Taser."

Dean nodded slightly and closed his eyes. "Okay. They have my car", he started, forming a plan in his mind, "it's a muscle car, 67 Chevy Impala, black. I don't know where it is, maybe they hid it somewhere, maybe they feel safe enough to park it right at the front door, I can't tell. There are weapons in the trunk, a lot of weapons."

"Do I want to know why you have a lot of weapons in your trunk?"

"No. Anyway, I'd say we wait for the night, hope they don't need this…" He started to poke the sack he was currently clinging to and frowned when something white started to trickle from a tiny hole. Catching something of it Dean carefully tasted the powdery stuff.

"Interesting."

"Is it cocaine?"

"No, it's salt."

Annie hesitated. "And that's interesting why?"

"Long story…"

The pickup slowed down and turned to the right. Instantly, the road surface changed, the truck's smooth driving switching to a bumpy ride over gravel and sand.

"We've left the main road", Annie said, hissing when they hit a pothole and her chin connected with the truck bed.

"You okay?" Dean was struggling with the up and down of the truck himself, the motion being a bitch for his head which was already throbbing in time with his heartbeat. He dared to let go of his trusty sack of salt with one hand and tried to cup Annie's face without accidently slapping her thanks to the rough movements of the vehicle. "Annie?"

"I'm good", she replied and met his gaze, a small smile confirming her answer.

Dean returned her smile, even if it was a pained one. Was it time to tell her what she had to expect? Was it necessary to tell her at all? Those guys were hunters, there was no question about it. No one squirreled such amounts of salt in the desert, the danger of icy roads and loads of snow was pretty meager around here.

He didn't expect things to go smoothly. With his condition and hardly any weapons their chances were slim. But it didn't mean they were non-existent.

"You should have stayed back, Annie", Dean said, hesitantly pulling his hand away from her face, "I'm used to run into trouble for doing stupid things, that doesn't mean you have to jump into the same hole with me."

"Always the protector", she answered, cursing over another ground wave before she looked at Dean again through her tousled hair that stuck to her sweaty cheeks and forehead, "It's okay, Dean, really. Don't worry about me. I'm a big girl. Let's get your brother, shall we?"

He wanted to reply. Wanted to protest, was about to try to convince her to stay hidden under the tarp. Yes, he wanted to protect her, wanted to throw her out of the moving vehicle to keep her away from ground zero. Suddenly the thought of Annie getting hurt made him sick and anxious.

And he knew that he wouldn't be able to protect her when things went south. Or if anything was wrong with Sam – if his brother was hurt or worse, Dean was sure he'd go on a rampage that was most likely to end in a blood bath.

And he would probably don't care in which condition he'd get out of it.

The pickup slowed down once more and Dean held his breath. He glanced over to Annie who stared up as if inspecting the tarp, listening.

There was a creaking sound, as if a giant door was opened. The light changed, it got a bit darker, as if the sun had been switched off. So did the sound, it was suddenly echoing from walls that hadn't been there before.

_Garage or barn_, Dean thought, reconsidering their options.

When the vehicle finally stopped and the engine died down completely, Annie rolled her head slowly to look at Dean.

He winked her, mouthing a "Guess we're here."

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><p><em>To be continued…<em>


	7. Chapter 7

_H__ere's a new chapter for you, enjoy!_

_Oh, and I have an announcement to make: I'm currently reading a story of a fellow FF author and it's plain awesome. It's not finished yet, it has to be translated first before it can be read here – but stay tuned for it! So if you have your hands free and your mouths empty how about some whooping for my pal Lykaia! You're a genius, you can do it!  
><em>

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><p><strong>Chapter 07<strong>

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><p>The voices were muffled and sounded far away, which was fine for Dean. Far away meant the kid and stunt asshole #4 hadn't made their way back to the truck bed yet, maybe wouldn't go there at all.<p>

He lay there, unmoving, every muscle tense, every part of his body poised to strike. His breathing was quiet and shallow, which was pretty hard work trapped beneath the heavy tarp and the almost unbearable heat surrounding him. Annie's Taser he had decided to use was a comfortable weight in his hand. He blinked against the salty, burning sweat crawling into his eyes, his hair and clothing clinging to him. The medical patch on his head had been itching before, but now it was downright annoying.

Annie was his mirror image, the tight grip she had on her gun not wavering. She was keeping an eye on the loading flap, as ready as Dean to act immediately if someone came close.

They were snuggled up to each other, more accidently than deliberately, the previous journey having turned them to playthings of centrifugal forces and potholes. Despite the uncomfortable warmth and the fact that Annie's body heat made him sweat and wanting to crawl out of his own skin even more, Dean welcomed the touch, her closeness helping him to push all the recklessness into the farthest corner and to keep his calm. He felt…secure. For the first time since Sam had been taken he didn't feel lost or upside-down.

They both flinched when the car doors were slammed shut.

Dean listened to the voices, tried to discern if he had heard them before. He hadn't. The kid, Stevie had been his name, he hadn't said anything before he had shot him. The dialogue between Sam and that little brat before it had turned out they had been lured into a trap hadn't been audible to Dean as he had sat in the Impala at the time.

Stevie sounded damn young and insecure. He had looked like it, too, those few minutes Dean had had the pleasure of watching him aim a gun at his skull. The boy was anything but the cold-as-ice hunter, that much was clear.

Him and #4 were discussing something, nothing of importance, Dean decided, nothing that might have told them where to look for Sam or what kind of game they were playing. There were no foot steps to be heard, so Dean dared to close his eyes briefly to concentrate on the volume of the voices, trying to locate the two dicks and their ballpark positions around the pick-up.

Dean's eyes shot open when their voices came closer.

"I'm just saying, I think we should eat downtown sometime…I'm sick and tired of this cowboy style food."

"Not exactly flying under the radar, don't you think, Stevie?"

"Well, we could try not to make a spectacle of ourselves for once in a while."

_You gotta be kidding me,_ Dean thought, rolling his eyes in frustration.

"Guess that means we're not allowed to have a little joyride with this thing here, either, huh?"

"Absolutely not. I'm sure someone's already looking for it."

_Wait a second…_

"Yeah. Maybe it's safer if it stays in here. I don't trust those old cars anyway."

_My car. Is he talking about my freakin' car?_

"Besides, have you heard the doors? They're creaking like an old woman's knee joint."

_Excuse me?_

"Oh, I have to admit, I loved driving it."

_You bet._

_Wait, what?_

"There are a few things you still have to learn, kiddo, especially when it comes to cars. Come on, let's get into the house. There's another round of cowboy chow waiting for us."

"You think we need more salt? There are a few more sacks up here…"

They were too close for Dean's liking. But if he wasn't ready to strike before, now he was. Shifting his right leg into position carefully as not to jostle the tarp and make a noise, he tightened his own grip on the Taser and raised it slightly. He didn't dare cast a glance to Annie, but he knew she was as ready and eager to fight as him.

"Maybe later. There's still plenty of it inside. Let's go, move it."

There were steps, soft, a distant shuffling before the creaking they had heard earlier resounded again and ended it a deafening _Bang_.

For a moment, neither Dean nor Annie dared to say anything, not sure if they were alone or if someone might still be around. But when no further noise was to be heard, Dean shifted a bit, let the Taser sink and his muscles relax.

"You think it's safe?" Annie whispered, barely audible, adjusting her grip on the gun.

"Only one way to find out", Dean replied and started to lift the tarp a little, all the way listening to any reaction from outside. When nothing happened, he dared to crawl out of his hiding place, the air outside feeling almost arctic compared to the stickiness beneath the tarp. He looked around briefly, making sure that the coast was indeed clear.

What he saw, totally made his day.

"Ha!" he burst out in delight, half whispered, half shouted, "I knew it!"

He felt Annie sit up beside him. "Oh", she said, "I take it that's your armed-to-the-teeth-car?"

"Yeah, it is. And who's got the creaking grandma knee joints here, huh?" Dean shot a scowl over to the now closed giant double doors.

At the sight of his car, Dean felt a surge of anger bubble up in him. If the Impala were an advertising motif for an offroad vehicle, built to wade through mud and water, resistant and robust, she'd manage to win every adventurist over. She was dusty, she was dirty, there probably were dozens of scratches and dents hidden beneath the several layers of desert crust.

"Didn't you say it was black?" Annie asked. She raised two placating hands when Dean glared at her.

With a grunt he managed to take his eyes off his baby and let his gaze roam the location.

It was indeed a barn, a huge one. Even if it was obviously not used for animals anymore, there were still a few haystacks piled up at the sides. A wooden ladder lead up to a hayloft. Apart from that, the barn was empty and simply used as a hiding place for the pick-up and the Impala.

Dean freed himself from the tarp and jumped from the truck bed onto the sandy ground.

Realization hit him approximately at about the same time his feet touched the ground and a sharp pain shot from his knee through his whole body.

"Holy crap..." he hissed out, crumpling to the ground, his injured knee venting its displeasure by throbbing in tune with his heartbeat. Oh yeah, he should have catalogued his injuries more precisely.

Annie's face appeared in front of him, her expression a mixture of concern and surprise. "Hey, you alright? Dean? Look at me."

"I do...I mean, I'm looking at you...it's okay, I just...I totally forgot about that..." He managed a chuckle, something between a pained gasp and a genuine giggling.

"Forgetting about your messed up bones doesn't mean they're whole again, you know?" She smiled at him, then frowned. "It's gotten worse, right? Your knee? You think you'll manage?"

"Have to. Climbing up there's going to be a bitch, though."

"Up where?"

Dean nodded at the ladder. "Best case scenario – we wait for the night, mostly everyone's asleep and we have to deal with only a few watchdogs, we get Sam and we get the hell out of dodge. I for one don't want to hide beneath this freakin' tarp for the next hours, so I'd say we climb up there and lay low until it's dark. Maybe we have a panoramic view and can oversee the area, find out where we are and you could call your men."

"Sounds like a plan", Annie nodded and grabbed his upper arms, pulling him to his feet. Dean gritted his teeth when his injured knee protested again, cursing when the tiniest whimper escaped his lips. He was grateful when Annie didn't say anything, although he was sure she had heard him. Instead she wordlessly lay his arm over her shoulders and pulled him close. And for once Dean let her help, knowing that without her help he'd either crawl to the ladder like a millipede with 500 broken legs or just plain stay where he was, sitting in the dirt, leaning against the pick-up's rear wheel.

"Wait", he hissed, stopping her when Annie started to move towards the ladder, "let me check my car. The trunk."

"Right, the armory."

"Exactly." Dean managed to hobble the few feet over to his baby's trunk, looking forward to meet his beloved arsenal again. However, when he opened the lid, was about to cheer that those stupid asshats hadn't locked it, his moment of joy burst like a soap bubble at the sight of an empty trunk. "Son of a bitch…"

Everything was gone. Even the smallest gadgets, from the throwing stars to the shotguns and machetes, it was gone. Oh, now Dean was really pissed.

"Dean, let it go, we have to get up", Annie urged, throwing nervous glances over her shoulder and reaching for his hand.

"I'm going to kill them", the Winchester growled, closing the trunk lid as quiet as possible, "I'm going to freakin' sharpen my knifes on them, every single knife I call my own."

The way over to the bottom of the ladder was painful and slow, but it was nothing compared to the way up. Trying not to put too much weight onto his busted leg, Dean pulled himself up with his arms, which was okay for he first rungs, but turned more and more arduous with every inch he managed. He had knocked back Annie's offer to climb behind him, the thought of him slipping or, worse, losing his footing altogether and therefore falling onto her and crushing her with his weight scaring the hell out of him.

And of course, his pride had something to say in that matter, too.

"Dean? You okay?"

He hadn't noticed that he had stopped his way up and his head was currently resting against the rung his sweaty, hurting hands clung to like a lifeline. Looking up he was glad to see Annie's head sticking out of the small opening of the hayloft.

"M' fine", Dean rasped, renewing his efforts to reach the top of the damn ladder.

When he finally dragged himself over the edge, partly on his own, partly hoisted up by Annie, he decided to just stay the way he had come to rest, flat on his back in a bed of hay, arms outstretched, completely out of breath and sweating like a pig.

He couldn't tell how long he lay like this, enjoying the mesmerizing effect of the dust particles wafting through the heated air. It smelled of warm wood and hay, the heat up here being more intense and stuffy. Dean wasn't sure if that qualified as cozy or annoying.

A whispered cry of infuriation pulled him from his foggy state.

He tilted his head back and met Annie's eyes. "What is it?"

"You know all these movies? When people are knee-deep in trouble and in dire need of their phones?" She waved her cell at him.

"You mean the oh-so-surprising lack of reception?"

"Yep."

"Are we those people right now?"

"Yep."

Dean let his head roll back to a normal position and looked at the ceiling again. "Awesome."

"What now?"

"We wait for the night."

"Okay, and then?"

"Kick some butts."

She huffed out a laugh. "I'm looking forward to see that, you and your messed up leg. You're going to use it to kick said butts?"

"I've had worse."

"Oh yeah, I bet."

They fell silent and Annie crawled up to a knothole in the wooden wall and peeked through it. She had a point, Dean had to give her that. He had no idea himself how he was supposed to fight without looking like the black knight in Monty Python and the Holy Grail. The thought made him laugh out loud.

"What's so funny?" Annie asked irritated, turning to him.

"Nothing…nothing, I just…" Dean shook his head and sat up, pushing himself backwards to lean against the wall. "Do you know where we are? It's a ranch, right?"

She nodded. "A big one. There's a farm house out there…a smaller barn right next to it. An enclosure…no animals. I can't see anyone, either. I can't pinpoint the exact geographic location of this ranch but from the length of our trip and the distance to the range of hills in the south I'd say we're pretty far out."

"Any sign of an oversized kid? If you can't see his face, that's normal, it's mostly hidden behind a drapery of hair."

"No."

Dean closed his eyes. "Awesome."

"You said that already."

"I know."

He heard a shuffling noise, felt the wooden boards beneath him shift a little. When he opened his eyes again Annie sat beside him. For the first time since their little adventure had begun, a faint waft of vanilla reached his nose once again.

"For the record – this was your idea", she said softly, reaching for his head and carefully inspecting the patch on his head.

"I didn't complain, did I." He watched her work on his injury through his lashes, the way she was chewing her bottom lip, her bright eyes narrowed in concentration. There were still a few curly strands clinging to her face, creating a wild pattern with the stains of dirt on her skin.

"You know, I think grunting 'Awesome' is your way of complaining."

That caused Dean to snort. "You have absolutely no idea." He flinched when a sharp pain erupted from his temple. "Ouch."

"I'm sorry", Annie apologized, pulling her hands back as if being burned. Without thinking Dean grabbed them and held them in place.

"No…", he said, looking into her eyes and determinedly held her gaze, "no, it's okay. I'm the tough guy, remember?" He reached out and grazed her forehead with his fingertips, pushing the sticky strands from her skin while his other hand still held hers. She had freckles. How come he hadn't noticed before?

She didn't flinch, didn't retreat, just looked at him. It gave Dean a weird feeling of gratefulness and trust. He let his fingers wander along her temple, to her ear, pushing some more strands behind it. He didn't stop, couldn't stop, didn't want to stop at all. He softly, carefully, cupped the back of her head and pulled her close, mentally waiting, unconsciously preparing himself for her to shy away, to free herself from his light but affirmative grip.

But she didn't pull back, didn't shy away. Instead, Dean felt one of her hands on his cheek, her touch sending sparks through him, a wave of warmth forcing his eyes to slide shut.

For a long, wonderful moment Dean cherished their closeness, their foreheads and noses touching while their parted lips didn't, keeping a distance too small to discern but too far to touch. For a moment, Dean didn't feel any pain, didn't feel any loss, ignored the reason they were here, forgot about his violent, screwed up life. He relished Annie's quickened breath on his skin, took in her scent enveloping him, leaned into her touch, craving for love and warmth and protection.

With a soft gasp he closed the tiny gap between them, their lips finally melting together to a kiss, cautious and tender. Letting go of Annie's hand he still held in his, Dean ran it down to the small of her back, applying soft pressure while he pulled her head even closer. He felt her climb onto his lap, careful as not to jostle his injured knee, welcomed her body heat and the way their kiss intensified, turning from wary and timid to sensual, then passionate.

Time stood still, seconds, minutes, hours, Dean lost track of it. He wanted to drown, wanted to let himself fall so deep, not sure if he wanted to surface ever again. He responded to her, to her warm weight and her movement in his lap, to her long fingers raking through his hair, to her quiet panting.

It was reality that hit him like a sledgehammer, his conscience that kicked his ass, all those things that laughed into his face from the moment he opened his eyes in the morning until he closed them at the end of the day. It was the curse pressing down on him 24/7. And of course, it never silenced.

_Sam._

_Danger._

_Clear head, anyone?_

Dean pulled back, broke away from their kiss, fighting the urge to scream in frustration. Suddenly he felt so cold, and he wanted nothing more than to just go on, go further, switch his brain off and just lose himself. He pulled his hands back and let them drop to his sides, hands balled to fists.

Annie looked at him, her eyes huge and questioning.

"I…Annie, I…", Dean stammered, searching for words, searching for a way to jumpstart his hunter instincts again, "I'm sorry…this is…the time's not…it's not right."

He met her gaze and goddamit, it was so hard to look at her right now, he was so sorry and geez, he was so…

But what kind of a moron was he? What kind of asshole makes out with a woman while his little brother was in the hands of some psychos? Come on.

To his surprise, Annie smiled. "I know. It's okay." She caressed his cheek once more before she slid from his lap and sat down next to him again. The pang of sorrow and coldness due to the sudden lack of her body heat forced a silent curse from Dean.

"Damn, this is awkward", he mumbled, running a hand over his face. He wished for an ice cold shower right now.

"No, it isn't", came Annie's reply and she playfully nudged his arm, "I'm going to put that onto our To-Do-list. Right after our dinner."

It was a peace offer to the war that raged in Dean. She understood. And she accepted. They were still good.

He snorted and lay his arm around her, grateful when she snuggled herself close to him. He let his head drop back against the wall and closed his eyes. They had still a few more hours to wait for the night.

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><p><em>To be continued…<em>


	8. Chapter 8

_Yes, everything's fine with your calendar, it's still Saturday. But as I have family crash in tomorrow to celebrate my son's 3rd birthday I guess it's a good idea to post now. Don't think anyone is raising objections._

_This chapter is a birthday present for a special person very very far away from where I live: **Dear Rosetta, happy happy birthday, rock the house, baby!**_

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><p><strong>Chapter 08<strong>

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><p>A thud jerked him awake.<p>

He blinked against the darkness in confusion. It was pitch black, the shapes of the windows and doors blending into the night like a charcoal drawing on a black canvas. It took him a few seconds to gather his bearings, he just couldn't remember how he had fallen asleep. Couldn't remember falling asleep at all.

He pushed himself up onto one elbow and flexed his fingers, noticing his mistake the moment a jolt of pain shot through them.

"Ah…crap", Sam hissed, squeezing his eyes shut and dropping right back to the ground. That son of a bitch. Oh yeah, hello memories. Of course he hadn't fallen asleep. After that gorilla had set his broken fingers without any painkillers or at least knocking him unconscious, his body had taken over the task itself. Sick bastard. Next time he'd see the guy he was going to break his nose.

A sudden noise caught Sam's attention. He froze and listened.

Nothing.

What, was he hearing things now?

There. Again.

Carefully, he pushed himself up again, trying to make out where the sound had come from. One of the doors? A key? Was someone turning a key? Or rather poking the door lock in order to open–

Sam's eyes widened. Lock pick. A fucking lock pick. Someone was trying to get in, someone who obviously had no key. What the hell?

He rose into a sitting position, never taking his eyes off the door on the right side of his prison. When he heard the telltale sound of the lock clicking open, he narrowed his eyes. His heart was beating so loud he was sure it would soon explode from his chest like an alien.

Something…someone…_a head?_ slipped in, looking around the room. Sam didn't dare to breathe. Was he visible? Could that someone see him in his dark corner? If so, was that a good or a bad thing?

"Sam? Is that you?"

At hearing his name, Sam cocked his head in surprise. It was barely above a whisper. He could have misheard it–

"Sam?"

Okay. The 'someone' knew his name. Not creepy at all. A woman? What the…? Was this a trap? Who was looking for him?

"Yes", he whispered back, taking the risk, "Who is this?"

The figure entered the room and silently closed the door before it sneaked toward him. "Police. We're getting you out."

She knelt down in front of him, but still Sam could only make out the outlines of her hair and physique. "How did you find me? How do you know I'm here?"

Her eyes were obviously more adjusted to the dark than his because she seemed to look straight into his eyes. The fact that Sam couldn't see her expression and therefore wasn't able to read her face made him edgy.

"I'll explain later, okay? But now we have to get out of here." Noticing the shackles, she started to work on them, mumbling a few swear words about lock picking in the darkness. Sam flinched when she accidently knocked against his throbbing fingers.

"Are you hurt?" She instantly let go of the shackles and carefully checked his bandaged fingers.

"I've had worse", Sam hissed, momentarily annoyed by the pain and the night and the fact that he had absolutely no clue who this woman was and why she was helping him. Police sounded good. At the moment. Under normal circumstances, not so much, though.

When she suddenly snorted, he frowned and tried to meet her gaze. "What's so funny?"

"Nothing." The shackles snapped open with a click and Sam almost cried out in relief when he slid them from his wrists.

"Thank God, that feels better", he sighed and straightened, his muscles protesting the change in position, "so, where's the cavalry?"

She put the lock pick away, "What, I'm not enough for you?"

"No offense, but since when does the police sneak in like that?"

"Since this is a two-men-show."

He blinked. "You're kidding, right?"

"I'm afraid not, it's a long story. Come one, let's get out of here."

Sam watched her rise and tiptoe back towards the door. For a moment, he wasn't sure if this was his personal version of MTVs 'Punk'd'. A police woman he had never seen before in his life, appearing in the middle of the night, all on her own, armed with a lock pick, freeing him from the hands of a pretty dangerous bunch of assholes. Should he mutter a 'Christo'? Was it…

"Ruby?"

The woman switched her attention from the door back to him while she pulled something from her belt that looked suspiciously like a gun. "Gorgeous name. But I'm Annie. Sheriff Annie Brewster. Nice to meet you."

And if Sam hadn't been stunned before, now he was. He opened his mouth to say something but decided that his savior was right concerning the hurry. When he climbed to his feet, he bit back a grunt while feeling returned to his limbs in the form of a gazillion ants, marching along his legs and feet. The sensation was nothing new to him, he had gone through it every damn single time his captors had granted him a visit to the bathroom, but still – it was a pretty unpleasant way to wake his muscles. He tried really hard to take the few steps to the door without making any noise and cringed when his unsteady swagger was everything else than quiet.

"You okay?" Annie asked him in a noiseless whisper, "Can you make it?"

Sam nodded and pressed himself against the wall, composing himself. It took him only a moment to get ready to take on whatever would try to stop them.

Gun drawn, Annie opened the door again and slipped out of the room, Sam close behind. He had never got to know what lay behind this door, his only trips through the building being to the bathroom through the other door and back.

Instead of a hallway, they entered another room, bigger than the one Sam had been held captive, but equally empty. It looked like a small barn. Bright moonlight crept in through two giant windows which luckily weren't curtained off, and Sam was able to take a good look around. There was a pile of clothing on the ground, placed almost right in front of the door they were sneaking out. Before Sam had time to shake his head about the mess, he recognized a hand right next to what looked like a jacket.

Oh. His watchdog. Now that explained the thud that had woken him up earlier.

Passing the lifeless body, the two of them scurried over to a bigger door of which Sam prayed it was the exit. He craved for fresh air, needed to see something else instead of walls and floorboards, dirty rags and ugly faces.

So when they pushed the heavy piece of wood aside and the first breeze of cool night slammed into his face, Sam allowed himself to close his eyes for a brief second and took a deep breath.

When he opened them again, he was sure to find Annie gone, already crept from their current hiding place in order to escape to wherever she was about to lead him. However, she was still there, looking outside through the small opening as if waiting for something. Or someone.

It was then that Sam remembered her words.

"You said something about a two-men-show", he whispered, "so, where's number two?"

She turned to him, opened her mouth to answer when the door suddenly opened a bit further and someone slipped in, lightning fast and stealthy. The figure passed them and disappeared into the shadows.

Sam didn't hesitate. He lunged at the intruder. With one arm around the other man's throat and his good hand pressed onto his mouth to keep him from calling for help, Sam dragged his captive to the ground, smiling when the impact elicited a pained grunt from the man.

Okay, this could be the second helping hand, Annie's reinforcement he was pushing into the dirt. But it could also be one of his new friends, accidently walking in, maybe on his way to go walkies with him.

He wouldn't risk it. Better be safe than sorry.

However, when Sam felt Annie trying to hold him back, heard her hiss 'Stop it, Sam!', he let go of the writhing man immediately.

"Sorry", he mumbled, reaching out his good hand to help the other man back up, "thought you were someone else."

The figure accepted his offer and allowed Sam to haul him to his feet. "No problem. Better safe than sorry, right?"

Sam froze. That tone sounded awfully familiar.

He watched him shift and straighten, stared at the other man and let his gaze wander over the spots illuminated by the moonlight, took in the person's hair, clothing, frame, a medical patch at his temple...

It couldn't be. This was not possible.

"Dean…"

Sam's mouth was suddenly desert dry. His broken fingers started to hurt, and it was only then that he noticed that his hands were trembling.

Oh God. This wasn't real. _Dean_ wasn't real.

Shaking his head in denial Sam swallowed. "How…this is…Dean, you…"

The man – _Dean...was it...could it be...Dean?_ – crept slowly towards him. Sam could see his face now, the features so well-known, the expression so much-loved, there was worry, there was fear.

Only one way to find out. Please. "Christo." Please.

"Sam? Sammy? What is it?" Sam felt two hands on his shoulders, again, this time shaking him, "Hey? You okay?"

It was Dean's voice. It were Dean's eyes searching his face. They had their usual green. And they stayed that way.

"I...", Sam pinched the bridge of his nose and took a deep breath, "You have to stop doing this to me, okay?"

"Doing what?" His brother ducked his head and looked at him closely. "Doing what, Sam?"

"Getting killed. Then popping up right in front of me again. I swear, I'm going crazy."

"What are you talking about, I wasn't killed." Dean frowned. "At least not this week."

Sam's hand shot forward and he gripped the collar of Dean's shirt. "You got shot. In the head", he hissed, almost too loud given their current situation, "you were bleeding all over the place from a hole in your pighead. That stupid kid announced you dead. I'm not even sure if I'm talking to the real YOU or a fucking spirit..."

With an angry sob he pulled Dean close into an embrace, and come to think of it they were hugging pretty often recently, but right now Sam couldn't care less. His brother said nothing, didn't fight the gesture he'd normally entitle as 'a typical girly move'. Sam felt him return the hug, felt Dean's arms around him.

"No spirit, Sam", he heard him mutter, "see?"

"You son of a bitch", Sam replied through gritted teeth, relief, anger, love, gratefulness, disbelief rushing through him like an electric current.

"Guys", came a voice from behind. "We should move."

Right. There was a problem to solve. Reluctantly, Sam let go.

"Yeah", Dean answered softly, breaking away from Sam, "we've made enough noise for the next two towns over to wake up. I'm actually surprised we're still undetected."

Sam watched him shift, winced at the sight of the stark white, almost glowing-in-the-dark patch at his temple. So Stevie had hit his brother, but the bullet had only grazed his head? Holy crap, it existed. The Winchester luck. For once, it had lived up to it's name.

"Okay, here's the plan", Dean said, casting a glance through the door standing slightly ajar, "we sneak over to the Impala, nice and quick. We push her out of the barn as far as we think we have to, then I'll fire the engine up. At the time they notice what's going on, we're gone."

"I think they have our weapons", Sam threw in, anger bubbling up in him at the fact, "at least our knife."

"Yeah, I know. They have everything, the trunk's empty."

"Crap."

"We can come back later, get our stuff. Right now I'm quite happy when we make it out of here in one piece."

Dean checked the area once again and nodded. Then he slipped outside. Sam followed suit, Annie bringing up the rear.

The ranch was bathed in moonlight and Sam was able to take a look at the premises he had been held captive for–days? Weeks? He didn't know. It was surprisingly quiet and peaceful, he would have expected more guards or a less sleepy atmosphere. Kane and his men were hunters after all, so night time meant prime time. Did they really feel that safe?

Eyes front, he caught a glimpse of Dean's silhouette, noticing that something was off with his brother's movements. They were smooth and skilled as always, but something just seemed not right. Was he limping? Holy hell, what had happened between Dean being shot and them sneaking through the night now?

Oh yeah, there would be some serious talking when they'd be out of here.

Reaching the biggest building of the ranch, another barn from the looks of it, the three of them crept inside. It was almost pitch-black in there, the rays of pale light now wriggling their way through a smaller window higher up. Sam's eyes adjusted themselves quickly to the darker surroundings and he recognized the Impala, parked in the middle of the barn beside a pick-up truck.

For a rescue operation under the given circumstances AND by courtesy of Dean Winchester, Sam had to admit that everything went surprisingly smooth. Annie and him opened the barn doors quiet and slow without the tiniest squeal of the old rusty hinges, while Dean prepared the Impala for their keyless kick start. Sam couldn't suppress a smile when he heard the soft swearing, the displeasure of ripping out wires which weren't supposed to see the daylight – or, in their case, the moonlight – clearly audible.

God, he had thought he'd never hear that cussing ever again.

Even the Impala seemed to understand the gravity of the situation, choking back her usual creaks and grunts when they started to push her outside, Dean at the A-pillar, one-handedly steering the heavy car during it's silent and cumbersome progress while Sam and Annie pushed from behind. There was still no sign of their enemies.

Which was pretty unnerving. But how about not look a gift horse in the mouth.

The property declined slightly towards the road, which was a big fat plus when it came to pushing the Impala. On the other hand it was pretty alarming how fast the big car gained momentum, and knowing that there was actually no one steering her properly and they had no chance to stop this battering ram when it might become necessary, Sam started to get edgy.

"Dean", he hissed, slightly out of breath thanks to his jog, "a little bit of motor-assistance would be nice now…"

"Yeah yeah", came the sharp reply and Dean dodged a small bush before he vanished inside the Impala, starting to fumble with the wires. Casting another glance over to Annie and motioning her to jump in, Sam gave the car another final shove and accelerated his own jog to a sprint. When he was on the same level as the front-seat passenger door, he tore it open and jumped inside, his legs bumping into everything that lay in their way and his head and upper body bumping into Dean.

"Holy…Sam, what the hell!"

"Sorry, car's not wide enough for stunts like that. Fire her up, Dean."

"Shut up, I'm on it! Steering wheel, Sam!"

Sam reached out and gripped the wheel with his left while Dean almost crawled into the foot well, trying to get the Impala running.

"Annie?" Sam panted, trying to keep the car from veering into the botany, "You okay back there?"

"Oh, I'm good, don't worry about me." She sounded nervous and was as out of breath as he was, but so far she seemed okay.

A triumphant outcry sounded from somewhere beneath the dash, followed by the roaring of the Impala's engine and her headlights flaring, the almost blinding light beam exposing the dry desert that lay in front of them. When Dean surfaced from his baby's insides with a big fat grin on his face, Sam couldn't help but laugh out loud, the insanity of their current adventure too weird to keep a straight face.

"That, ladies and gentlemen, was awesome", Dean cheered, patting the steering wheel and flooring the gas pedal, "Come on, sweet pie, get us out of here."

"I have to admit…I'm impressed", Sam said, running a relieved hand through his hair, wincing when his fingers reported their messed-up state. "On the long list of 'My Big Brother's Stupid Plans' this is can be found somewhere in the top ten."

"Ah, wuss. It worked, right?"

"We're not out of here yet."

"I have more good news", Annie said, leaning forward, her cell phone in hand, "Reception's back."

It was the telltale crack of a gunshot that put a sudden end to the trio's escape.

Followed by a loud hiss, the Impala jerked sideways, causing her occupants to get tossed around. Sam tried to catch himself, grasped the door, anything that might have stopped him from crushing his brother who was desperately trying to get the car under control again. He heard Annie yelp but had no time to check on her before he slammed into Dean and they cried out in unison.

The Impala fishtailed dangerously, the desert sand beneath her tires making it impossible to put an end to her spinning.

"Hang on!" Sam heard his brother yell over the noise, felt a hand pressing down on his chest in order to keep him from hitting the dashboard.

A jolt, a deafening crunch and the car made a surreal turn. Briefly, Sam wondered how such a large vehicle could actually tilt like this.

Then everything went black.

* * *

><p><em>To be continued…<em>


	9. Chapter 9

_Shame on me! I didn't manage to reply to all of you lovely people writing review after review and making my day! I'm on it, promised! And many thanks for all the nice words and wishes to my son and his birthday, I guess he had a great day. At least he fell asleep very exhausted in the evening, and that's a fairly good sign._

_Anyway, I'm excited what you think about this chapter, it's my favorite one so far. Enjoy!_

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 09<strong>

* * *

><p>When he came to, everything had changed.<p>

He remembered the poignant smell of gasoline and engine oil, how it had wafted through his foggy mind, replacing the scent of the desert and the night. He remembered blood. Metallic. Sickening. He remembered the horrible sound of metal twisting and glass breaking. A woman yelling. His brother crying out. Or had it been him?

Whatever had happened, now everything was gone.

It was warm, almost too hot. It was quiet, no metal screeching, no glass breaking, there was a strange silence which wasn't silence at all. A murmur. A rushing in his ears. He remembered dad. His childhood. The rare occasions their motel rooms had had a bathtub. The feeling of sinking down to the bottom of the tub, weightless, motionless, numb, wrapped in a cocoon of warm water, tasting of cheap motel-sponsored bath supplement. Listening to the bubbles crawling up to the water surface. To his own humming every time he decided to hum, it was so loud underwater, so loud and clear. Tiny feet running over bathroom tiles, steps that sounded like the steps of a dinosaur because of all the water surrounding him. He remembered Sammy's giggling, remembered his chubby face appearing above the water surface, blurry, wraithlike, relieved after finally finding him after searching every single room for his older brother.

Sam.

Glass breaking.

Metal screeching.

The smell of gasoline and engine oil.

SAM.

Water was pressing down on him. It crept into every opening his immobile body offered. He couldn't breathe, couldn't move, heard a humming that sounded like him, but wasn't him at all. He started to scream, but what could be heard when someone screamed under water?

He was in a bathtub. Trapped, glued to it's bottom. How was that possible? How could that be? How could he be stuck in a fucking bathtub?

Someone was giggling. Far away at first, then right beside him. Knocking against the side of the tub, startling him. Sammy? Sam, is that you? Stop it. Help me out.

_You can't fight me, Dean. Take it easy and no one gets hurt. Sit back and enjoy the show._

Dean froze, tried to comprehend, recognizing his own voice saying something he hadn't said, hadn't even thought.

Realization hit him with the force of a stampede. He started to trash again, only that nothing happened. He was still floating at the bottom of the tub, his own little trap, unable to make a noise, unable to stop the chaos in his mind, forced to witness everything.

No. Please. No.

* * *

><p>"Sam…wake up…"<p>

Scrunching his face up in annoyance and disgust, Sam couldn't stifle the moan that escaped his lips. It was just barely dawning. Way too early. Just a little longer. Just a minute. Or two.

"Sammy. Hey. You're scaring me here."

Finally jolting awake, everything crashed back to him – their escape, their joy, the sudden turn of events after the single damn gunshot had rung out. Blinking away the cobwebs invading his vision he looked around, his heart sinking with every inch he became aware of.

The wooden floor. The wooden walls. Two curtained windows, two doors, one on the left, one on the right side of the room. His wrists in shackles.

"Sam?"

He met Annie's eyes. She was looking at him in concern, although her current situation was as fucked up as his. Sitting on the floor against the wall a few feet away from him, her hands seemed to be tied behind her back, her ankles chained together.

"Are you okay?" she asked, ducking her head, "We're trying to rouse you for quiet some time now."

Sam nodded, deciding not to inspect his busted fingers which had started to throb again, "Yeah, just a bit...upside-down. You?" He narrowed his eyes, noticing a glistening spot at the side of her face. "What about your head?"

"I'm alright." Sam saw her grin. "Like you and Dean would say, I've had worse."

Returning the smile, Sam remembered his brother's voice that had woke him in the first place. Turning his head, he tried to make out Dean's position in his dimly-lit surroundings.

"Dean?"

"Ya. Over here", came the raspy reply from a huddled figure sitting in the middle of the room, "Which kind of La-La-land did we pull you back from, Sam? Got me really worried back there."

Sam snorted. "It was much more promising than this. Guess our escape wasn't really successful, huh?"

"You don't say." Dean shifted, and rolled his shoulders. "They blew a tire and I lost control over the Impala. But we're not dead. And we're not gravelly injured. So I consider ourselves halfway lucky."

Sam cast a glance back to Annie who huffed out a humorless laugh. With all due respect to Dean's optimism, but he knew what those guys were up to. And what Kane was capable of. He clenched his jaw in frustration and looked around, his bleary gaze falling on the chains around Annie's ankles once again. He pulled at his own restrains, as if checking them would help him to accept the fact that they were knee-deep in trouble.

Then he froze.

He blinked. Slowly, Sam looked up at Dean again. Tried to find what he hoped would be there. Tried to see his brother's face when he found the things he was looking for were missing. Tried to find anything that could take away the fear that started to clutch his heart.

He swallowed, panic causing his mouth to go dry in seconds. "Dean?"

Please, no.

"Hm?"

His eyes wandered to the spot where Dean's tattoo lay hidden beneath the layers of clothing. It was then when Sam noticed the burned fabric. That son of a bitch.

"Why are you not shackled?"

Sam spoke slowly, tried to sound as nonchalant as possible under the given circumstances. He watched his brother raise his hands as if he hadn't noticed the lack of any restraints.

I'm gonna kill him.

"Good question. Maybe they think I'm harmless?" He sounded like Dean. Moved like him. God, no.

"Why don't you come over here then?" Sam offered. It was meant to sound encouraging. Challenging. But the way Sam's voice broke shattered the conversational tone he was trying to put up.

Dean tilted his head. He made no move to react.

"I can't", he replied, also slow, his tone a mixture of suspicion and serenity, "I hurt my leg when that kid shot me. I can't walk, Sam."

Tears welled up in Sam's eyes. "That's bullshit", he spat, his muscles tensing up, "Dean was hobbling, yes. But he could walk just fine. Even run."

The sudden silence in the room was thick and heavy. Without really seeing his face Sam knew his brother was staring at him with a glare so typical for Dean that it tore him apart. It was a glare reserved for the baddies. The glare that had been directed at Kane after he had given the order to kill him.

Never ever had it been directed straight at him.

"What's going on?" Annie asked irritated, shifting a bit in her cramped position, "Sam, what..."

Sam ignored her. "Get out of him", he spat, "now."

In the almost-darkness he saw Dean smile. An ugly, evil smile. "Sorry kiddo, can't do that. See, my hands may be free, but you know as good as me that this doesn't matter."

Sam leaped forward with a growl only to be held back by his shackles. With the dawn advancing the shadowy shapes became clear. So did the devil's trap painted to the ceiling. Sam hadn't had to look at it, he knew it was there, he had witnessed it's magic many awful times since he was held captive here. But with the growing illumination of the room and Dean's position underneath the powerful symbol, familiar features unfamiliar cold and hateful, all denial was in vain.

Of course he'd do that. Of course Kane would use the most precious leverage, now he had been given a second chance to do so.

A shrill whistle sounded, causing both men to flinch. Sam tore his eyes away from Dean who cast a dismissive glance over to Annie.

"Okay, could anyone explain this to me?" she asked, the former sovereignty in her voice crumbling, being replaced by insecurity and confusion. "Dean? Sam? What the hell is going on?"

Sam knew he owed her an explanation. Whatever relationship his brother and Annie had, Dean hadn't told her anything about their fucked up lives, about the possible problems they might face. Little did she know that it was no longer Dean they were talking to. That it was no longer Dean who ordered his own body to breathe, to move, to speak.

This might be a good time for explanations. Sam just wasn't in the mood. She was the last of his problems right now.

A snort drew the general attention to Dean again. "That's where you're absolutely right, sister", he piped, "Hell's going on. There are a few things Dean should tell you about him before you two...well...go all the way, rolling around naked in some shady little barn." With one blink of his eyes the familiar green glare turned pitch black, eliciting a gasp from Annie. Sam heard her mouth shut with an audible click. So it was THAT kind of relationship. Crap.

"He's pretty vigorous, your brother", the demon spoke up with a sneer, "all fighting and trashing in here…"

Sam's head snapped up, "Shut your filthy mouth", he spat through gritted teeth, "I'm going to make your trip back downstairs a ride you'll never forget, so God help me."

"He won't, Sammy. God is a busy man. No time to pet his little creatures." The demon suddenly clapped his sickeningly free hands. "Come to think of it…under normal circumstances I'd be really pissed to be send back to hell. But to feel your brother's realization, the betrayal when he learns about your new…abilities. The ones you promised not to evolve…"

Sam's lips were a thin line. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Ah, come on, let's skip that part. I'm not Kane, I haven't picked up my information from straying demons or hunters, whispers down the lane, yadda yadda. I know what you're capable of, Sammy-boy. And as I already said, I should be frightened. But this coin has two sides. Me whizzing back into the pit by your hands…or hand…it's a pretty heavy blow to your brotherly relationship. And that makes me grin, wide and toothy."

"He will understand…", Sam countered with as much strength and rigor in his voice as he could muster.

"And did you ever see an oyster walk upstairs? Who are you trying to encourage, Sam? You betrayed your own brother. He went to hell for you and you…" The demon shook his head in disgust. "I gotta tell you, if I had a bit of saliva to spare, I'd spit in front of your feet right here and now."

Closing his eyes, Sam lowered his head in defeat. Yeah. Just who was he trying to encourage here? Dean wouldn't understand. As much as Sam wanted it to be like this, it wouldn't happen. He wouldn't shrug his shoulders and move on, all happy about the fact that his little brother was a freak. A bigger one than he was before. Sam had had his good reasons not to tell Dean about his powers in this early state of their reunion.

"Dean's very quiet now, you know", the demon continued, and Sam wanted nothing more than to rip his shackles from the floor and lunge at the creature wearing his brother's body, "he's listening. And oh, he's hurt. He's so disappointed, it's downright heartbreaking."

"Stop this, okay?" Sam's voice was a weak croak. "I'm warning you…"

"Do you even have enough juice? Without that demonic hot stuff by your side? Who's your dealer now?"

Another verbal punch in the guts. One too many.

Taking a deep breath and pushing any interfering thoughts away, Sam straightened and glared at the beloved face watching him with curiosity.

"Remember the old school way?" the Winchester asked casually and managed a cold smile before he started to speak. "Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus, omnis satanica potestas, omnis incursio infernalis adversarii…" Familiar words, learned a long time ago, waiting and ready for instant recall if necessary. Sam felt the tingle of his skin while he spoke, his body's slight rebellion against the chanted latin. Another indication for the uncertainty of his abilities. Another fact Sam had decided to ignore a long time ago.

The demon cocked his head, "Really." He raised his eyebrows in surprise, "That's lame. Given your powers, this is truly unspectacular."

"…omnis legio, omnis congregatio et secta diabolica…"

"Come on, Sammy. Skip the squibs. Unpack the fireworks."

"…Ergo draco maledicte et omnis legio diabolica adjuramus te…"

"Did you know…" A grunt. The voice pained. He was getting there. "Did you know that…commercial agencies use words like this as…as dummy text?"

"…Cessa decipere humanas creaturas, eisque aeternae Perditionis venenum propinare..."

"Sam? What are you doing? What's happening?" Annie. He had totally forgotten about her. He would explain it later. They would explain everything to her. Later.

"…Vade, Satana, inventor et magister omnis fallaciae, hostis humanae salutis..."

An agonizing outcry tore Sam from his concentration. When he saw Dean's face scrunched up in pain, the effects of the exorcism displayed on his brother's features, he almost faltered. Forcing himself onward, wading through the words that were supposed to kick the damn creature from Dean's body, the younger man narrowed his eyes. He had to try this. To use an exorcism against his brother was bad enough. He had no intentions to use his powers on him. Not today. Not ever.

"…Humiliare sub potenti manu dei, contremisce et effuge..."

"Sam? What's that smoke? My God!"

"…invocato a nobis sancto et terribili nomine, quem inferi tremunt."

Almost done. Only a few words left. Sam put more strength into his voice, the squirming body bathing in the demon's now visible dark essence in front of him partly satisfying, partly unbearable to watch.

_Sorry, Dean._

"You gutless son of a bitch… how about you come near me so I can rip your head off", the demon spat, slamming a balled fist onto the ground so hard Sam heard bones crunch. He winced, but never ceased speaking.

Until the familiar sound of a gun being cocked sounded from the other side of the room.

"You can stop right there, Winchester."

Sam fell silent in an instant. His head whipped around and his startled gaze was met with Kane's dark expression. The invidious leader stood at the now open door, flanked by his armed little infantry.

On the floor in the middle of the room the demon gasped and collapsed onto his stomach, black smoke crawling back into Dean's body like a swarm of bees seeking sanctuary in it's honeycomb.

"Damnit…" Sam whispered, clenching his jaw until it hurt.

With a nod of his head, Kane's men entered the big room and resumed their usual positions, a spectacle Sam had witnessed so often during the last days.

Only that it hadn't been Dean in the middle of the devil's trap those last few times.

Sam glanced over to Annie. Her eyes were huge, she scrutinized the new arrivals warily before her gaze fell back onto Dean's panting form. She was clearly confused, maybe a bit frightened, but she was also worried about Dean, so much Sam could see.

Annie seemed to feel his eyes on her and she looked up, nodding at Sam as a reply for his unspoken question if she was okay.

"I'm sorry I had to bring your little escape to an end", Kane spoke up, addressing Sam and Annie, "but we're not finished yet. You should have seen my face when we pulled your presumed dead brother from the car, though. For a second I was pretty stunned. Then I had a little chat with Stevie."

It was now that Sam noticed the young man's absence.

"Where is he?" he heard himself ask, alarmed. He wasn't sure if he really cared about the kid, but there was a small part of him getting anxious over the fact that Kane had found out about Stevie's lie.

"Nursing a few bruises."

"Huh", Sam snorted, "A fine boss you are. Beating your own men to pulp. And here I thought Stevie's special to you."

"Oh, he is. We're family, to be exact. But that doesn't matter. He lies to me. He gets what he deserves. End of story."

So Stevie and Kane had a special relationship. Sam wondered if it had something to do with the bad influence Stevie had told him about.

"That's the spirit", Dean's voice chimed in, a strained quality to it, "the good old carrot-and-stick-policy. Gotta love it." Sam's exorcism might have had failed, but it had weakened the demon. Struggling to sit up, Dean's body swayed dangerously once it was upright.

A dirty grin formed itself on Kane's unshaved face and he sauntered into the middle of the room, his hands deep in his pant pockets. He walked up towards the demon eyeing him as if he were some exhibition piece.

"Take a picture, it'll last longer", the captured demon growled, glaring back at the older man.

If possible, Kane's smirk widened even more and he stopped his little stroll to look at Sam. "Isn't he gorgeous", he cheered, "who says Dean Winchester is one insolent, arrogant son of a gun has never met him with a demon inside."

"Wait what this insolent, arrogant son of a gun can do to you with a demon inside", Dean's voice sounded, challenging Kane.

"Took us a while to figure out why we couldn't possess him, by the way", Kane went on, unimpressed by the demon's threat, "nice little trick with that tattoo. I might get one of those for me as well. Maybe I can get mine branding iron proof. And who would've thought that Dean can scream that loud."

"Shut your mouth", Sam snapped, tearing at his restraints in rage and disgust, the thought of his brother enduring such agony through this man's hands fueling his hate.

Kane only chuckled and ignored him, nodding his chin at Annie instead.

"And who do we have here? The long arm of the law. Funny, wouldn't have thought Dean might trust anything uniformed."

"And you're the guy who sends bullets into other people's heads with the intention to let them rot in the desert? That's very classy." Annie's reply was cold and unfazed.

"Yeah, well, that was the plan, right. But somehow this little dick here happens to have a very attentive guardian angel buzzing above his head. Not too bad, though. Wouldn't have thought Sammy here would turn out being such a stubborn pig."

With that, Kane fumbled with his jacket and reached for something that was hidden in one of the inside pockets, a smug smile plastered on his face. Sam didn't had to see what it was. He already knew what was going to happen next.

His panic spiked to the point of a full-blown freak-out.

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><p><em>To be continued…<em>


	10. Chapter 10

_Okay, yeah, the last cliffie wasn't nice, I apologize. But I won't promise that I never do it again. This would be lying. So get prepared :-)_

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><p><strong>Chapter 10<strong>

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><p>"Okay, okay!" Trying to raise his shaking hands in a placating manner despite his shackles, Sam swallowed, his panicked gaze darting from Kane's smug face to the weapon in his hands to Dean's widened eyes. "Just…take it easy."<p>

"Oh, I do, Sam. I'm completely at ease here. In fact, I'm currently trying to figure out the best way to stick this little thing into your brother's body without overstepping the barrier of this beautiful trap." Kane turned the knife in his hand lovingly, marveling at it. "I could just throw it, you know. See where it hits." Holding the gleaming blade between his thumb and index finger, he raised the weapon and made a wind up motion.

"WAIT!", Sam hollered, leaping forward, his heart dropping to the bottom of his stomach at the terrifying sight. He heard Annie cry out behind him, bound and as powerless as him.

Kane stopped and turned to him slowly, lowering the knife. He looked expectantly at the younger Winchester. "Got something to say, Sammy?"

Sam squeezed his eyes shut. He didn't want to do this. He wasn't even sure if he could. He was still a newbie. The last few times he had tried it hadn't worked properly.

"Wanna make me an offer?"

He was inexperienced. He was uncertain. His powers weren't under control yet. He was weak. He needed blood. He needed Ruby. What if he killed Dean while trying to save him? What if he'd let the demon slip?

"Or rather, show me something?"

What if it worked? What would happen next? Kane wouldn't let them go, so much was clear. Things would get worse. Much worse. But what other options did they have?

Sam blinked his eyes open and straightened. He pulled at his shackles once more. "Get these off." His voice was surprisingly strong and ferocious. He could do it. He had to.

Kane cocked his head in surprise. "I beg your pardon?"

"Get. Them. Off." Sam glared at the man. "You want me to exorcise this demon, so I need my hands free, at least one."

An astonished sound escaped the elder man. He raised his eyebrows. "So it's true. You can do it", Kane mumbled in awe before he frowned. "And what kind of insurance do I have that you won't go berserk on me? On us?"

"You have a knife and you have my brother. How much more insurance do you need?"

Kane seemed to contemplate Sam's words, then he smirked. "True." He motioned at one of his men to take care of Sam while he pulled a gun from his waistband. At the time Sam's wrists were free and he slowly got up onto his feet, more guns were drawn, aiming at Dean and Annie.

Kane was aiming at him. "No tricks. Remember the kneecap, Sam. Hurts like mother."

Sam clenched his jaw and was about to reply, but decided against it. There was no point in wasting air and energy by regarding that dick. He needed to concentrate now, screwing this up meant killing his brother. With his common sense screaming at him to think about this, to try to find another option, he stepped closer towards the devil's trap's edge, his attention solely on the demon holding his brother hostage in his own body.

"Sam?" Annie. Quieter now. Her voice wavering, on the verge of tears.

The demon was staring at him with Dean's eyes, the familiar green holding nothing that was his big brother. It was a cold, calculating glare Sam was met with. "Finally. Let's get started."

"I'm sorry, Dean", the youngest Winchester whispered, ignoring the creature's sneer and trying to recognize his sibling behind the demonic façade, "I'm gonna explain this to you, I promise. Just trust me on this."

"Don't bother", the demon replied, a cruel smirk growing on Dean's face which was all kinds of wrong, "you're a little too late, Sammy-boy. Dean's already utterly devastated. I'm not sure how you're gonna fix this again."

The words were like a sucker-punch, they hit Sam were it hurt the most. It were only words, spat in his direction with the only purpose to rattle him, to destroy him mentally; words he should have learned to ignore, no matter which voice made them audible, no matter which face he looked into while they were said.

Theory and practice. The little difference between those two was always underestimated.

Every intention, every rule was blown to hell when it came to loved ones. Telling himself that demons were lying sons of bitches. That listening to that scumbag in front of him who he was going to send back right here and now wasn't an option.

Blown. To. Fucking. Hell.

Ignoring the sting of his eyes and the lump in his throat, Sam slowly raised his right hand. He narrowed his eyes and caught the demon's amused gaze, brushing every non-essential thought, every possible protest of his sanity aside.

Step one was the easiest. Seeking out the demon's poisonous essence embedded in the host's body – his blood, his flesh, his muscles. Like an aggressive black oil film on azure blue water it coated the host's insides and suffocated the human soul.

Reaching out with his mind, Sam traced the demon raging in Dean's body, ignoring the taunting and writhing popping up in his brain now that he had created a connection between the demon and himself. Sam had gotten used to the flaring headache, the bolt of pain that kept searing through his skull with every use of his powers. Ruby had promised they would vanish someday, and indeed had his breakdowns become less frequent with every exorcism – but still, every exorcism was a draining and painful task.

Through his haze Sam noticed Dean's features scrunch up again and his breathing accelerate. "Don't think I'll give up that fast", the demon growled, "'m going to cause your beloved brother so much pain on my way out he'll be sorry the bullet has missed his tiny brain."

"No, you won't", Sam hissed back, renewing his efforts to track the creature down.

The searing headache increased. As if a hot poker was rammed into his skull agony exploded inside him, causing Sam's concentration to waver.

Something wasn't right. The traces were too faint. He could see them, feel them, but he couldn't get a hold of them. Yanking up his broken hand he clutched the side of his head, ignoring the throbbing of his fingers, unwilling to stop now.

No. Damnit. Nono.

"Having trouble, Sam?" The demon started to chuckle, recovering quickly. "Like I said. No juice."

A warm and steady tickle from Sam's nose announced the return of an old friend. Angrily wiping the blood away, he reached out again, harder, pushing himself further. A low growl built itself up in his throat as a defiant reply to the intensifying burning in his head.

It were his legs that gave the signal to stop. When they gave way, forcing Sam onto his knees, he lost his frail grip on the demon. Like a satisfied octopus the skull-splitting headache pulled it's tentacles back, offering Sam a relief he didn't welcome. He cursed, his swear words half sobbed, half growled, his good hand balled to a fist he wanted to bury in someone's face.

"Sam? Are you okay? Answer me!"

The young Winchester blinked and looked up to Annie who knelt rigid and tense in her corner, watching him with huge eyes. "Sam?"

He was about to nod at her when a stark white soft tissue appeared before his eyes. A pretty ridiculous item in a situation like this.

"Wipe your nose", Kane chastised him with a slight hint of disgust in his voice and dropped the tissue into Sam's lap. „So? I have to say I'm a little underwhelmed here. Did it work or not?" He stepped closer to the circle Dean casually sat in wearing a shit-eating grin on his pale face.

"It didn't work…" Sam grunted, sitting back, dabbing at the blood on his lips. The headache was almost completely gone now, and his blurry vision started to normalize. That didn't help to ease his panic, though.

Kane raised his eyebrows, then the weapon in his hand. "So it's the knife then..."

"NO!" Sam barely kept himself from lunging at the other man, "I...I can do this...I just..."

"He needs blood."

Sam froze at the sound of his brother's voice, an amused, mocking tone that was like a stick poking a whole bunch of bears.

"He needs what?" Kane asked incredulously, pulling his head back. He wrinkled his nose.

"Blood. Demon blood. Fill up the tank, please!"

"Is that true, Sam?" The ever present look of disgust was still plastered on Kane's features when he turned to the younger Winchester again. "Well, how convenient we have one here with us, right?"

Sam felt his hackles raise. It was the fact he had tried to ignore. The only tangible solution he just didn't want to chose. Couldn't chose.

This was no regular possessed Joe-the-plumber. No stranger he could use and forget. Not the life blood of some unknown person. This was Dean. This was his brother's blood. His own blood. His, pure and untainted like it had been until he had turned 6 months old.

"How much do you need?" Kane's voice pulled Sam from his rising desperation. Horrified, he watched as the older man grabbed Dean's arm and let the blade of the knife run along the bare skin of his forearm with one swift motion, causing the demon to gasp and flinch while the powerful metal left sizzling flesh and blood in it's wake.

Like a hunger-driven beast rearing it's ugly head at the sight and smell of the craved liquid, Sam's heart leaped in his chest. The sudden need made itself known like an animal that had been held in a far too small cage for too long, crawling under Sam's skin, clouding his senses and mind. He could hear the blood ooze from the long deep gash and run along Dean's skin, could hear it drip and hit the floor where it quickly formed a dark red pool.

Sounds melted together in Sam's head, drowned out by the aggressive rushing in his ears. Annie's cries – she was protesting. Calling his name? Dean's name? Kane was talking to him. Dean was talking – no. Not Dean. The demon. It was spitting things at who knows whom, it was laughing. At him. At Kane. Whoever.

A war was raging inside Sam. Need versus refusal. Strength versus weakness. Hunger versus disgust.

_I'm not weak._

Ruby was there. Smiling at him with this smile he had learned to love and interpret. She was proud of him. For once, someone was proud of his freakiness.

_I'll get us out of here. I can do it. I'm strong._

It was so easy to reach out. It was so easy to take in all the power that lay before him, like a sacrifice on an altar, like a gift only he was able to avail himself.

_Trust me. _

When he accepted the sacrifice, when his mouth closed around the fountain of power, the impact was immediate and immeasurable. Like the first gulps of water after days in the desert, like the first bites of food after starving weeks without, Sam was overcome by sheer greed and gluttony. Attempting became absorbing. Absorbing became devouring. He felt the stimulating force rush through him, felt it galvanize the withering powers that had lain dormant for days.

Stopping himself and pulling back, Sam felt himself stand, his whole body tingling with energy. When he opened his eyes, taking a deep, vitalizing breath, he no longer saw Dean before him. There was no need for him to reach out for the demon trapped in his sibling's body.

He saw the creature now. How it lurked beneath Dean's skin. Anchored in his flesh and blood. It's awful mug a mixture of fear and scorn.

"Time for you to go home, don't you think?" Sam rumbled, not waiting for an answer. Catching a hold of the demon's essence and gripping it, he raised his hand once again. The headache returned, only a tiny throbbing now, not enough to even regard.

A surge of satisfaction washed over him while he watched the thing in front of him gag and moan, it's ugly expression losing the sneer and arrogance it held before. With every part of the demon breaking loose Sam felt a small tug inside him, gentle at first, but more and more violent the longer it took to tear the creature from it's host.

It was an alarm Sam had learned to listen to. Time was running out. He had to hurry.

Renewing his efforts once more, the goddamn headache intensifying, Sam pulled harder. With his and the demon's strength waning, his surroundings became visible again. The ghastly appearance of the hell spawn faded, revealing an anguished Dean, lying on the ground, back arching and screaming.

Oh God.

Sam almost lost his grip on the demon, reality slapping him with full force. Clenching his jaw to the point his teeth crunched painfully, he pulled with all his might, almost crying out in triumph when Dean's screams broke off and turned into excruciating gagging. With a mixture of relief and despair Sam watched the demon escape from his brother's wide opened mouth, a black liquid-like mass crawling down Dean's pale sweaty cheeks, disappearing in the gaps of the wooden floorboards.

For a moment it was deadly silent except for Dean's and Sam's heavy panting. Dean rolled onto his side, a small whimper escaping his lips, a sound so unnatural for him it made Sam jump forward on wobbly legs and sink down beside him.

"Dean? Hey, hey. You okay? Dean?" He lay a gentle hand on his sibling's trembling shoulder, not sure if he should move him onto his back to check on him properly or just let him roll into himself for now. Dean squeezed his eyes shut, his whole face a mask of pain. He was cradling the hand the demon had slammed onto the ground earlier, holding it close to his chest and protecting it with his body. His arm, clothes and the floorboards were smeared with blood.

"Hey bro", Sam tried again, shaking Dean slightly, his worries about the lack of response increasing. Had he screwed this up? Had the demon carried out the threat to hurt his brother on it's way out? "Dean? You with me?"

However, Sam wasn't prepared for the whispered words coming from Dean's mouth.

"Don't...touch me…"

Sam stopped breathing for a moment, his mouth going desert dry. "Dean…"

"Just…back off." There was almost no strength in Dean's voice, a hoarse cawing, nothing more, but the tone held no room for arguments. Swallowing hard, Sam let go of his ailing brother, unwilling to back down completely, uncertain what to do next.

The applause of one single person cut through the thick silence of the room. An applause Sam had already heard before, the same fucking applause they had listened to when this mess had started back on that dusty road.

"I am very, very impressed, Sam." Kane looked like a child at christmas – eyes huge, a big smile on his beaming face. "This is...wow. Just, wow."

Tearing his desperate gaze away from his sibling, Sam turned his attention to Kane, his features harden. "Yes. Shocker. Rumors are true, I'm a freak. What's next, huh? You gonna let us go now or what?"

A superfluous question. Sam knew that. But maybe a stupid question would help to forward whatever the sick fuck had in mind. He was done with Kane. Everything Sam wanted was to drag Dean out of here, to see how his brother was doing and, more importantly, to pick up the pieces of the mess he had created.

He felt Annie's eyes on him, huge and frightened. The poor girl was obviously shaken to the core. If they came out of this alive, they'd have a lot to explain.

Kane raised an eyebrow in amusement. "Of course not. We have a lot to talk about, Sammy. Let's say you got me hooked here, I wanna know all the details of your little trick." He motioned at his men who stood flabbergasted and open-mouthed with their backs pressed against the wall, seemingly trying to process what they had just witnessed. Two of them stepped slowly forward then, wide, suspicious eyes darting from Dean up to the devil's trap, hesitant to close in any further. Their indecision pissed their leader off.

"What", he spat harshly, "he won't bite you."

The look on Kane's face switched from furious to smug when Dean was gripped roughly and pulled to his feet with more force than necessary since he didn't put up any form of resistance. His expression was empty and emotionless, the only indication for his tension the jumping muscle of his jaw. Kane stepped up to him, entered Dean's personal space relentlessly. "Nah, he won't bite", he whispered, so close to the older Winchester's face his lips almost touched Dean's ear, "Not anymore. There are bigger things you have to chew on at the moment, am I right, Dean-o?"

"Leave him alone", Sam shouted, starting to move forward when he was reminded of the several weapons in the room by simultaneous 'clicks'. He heard Annie cry out behind him and turned in time to watch one of Kane's men yank her head back violently thanks to a tight grip on her hair, a gun pressed beneath her chin.

Sam gritted his teeth and focused his attention on Kane again. "Let them go, okay? They have nothing to do with this. It's me you want, you can have me, but please, I'm begging you here…" Sam broke off, a sharp pang of dread stabbing him when Dean didn't interfere. He glanced over to him, met Dean's eyes, for a tiny moment glad that his brother was looking back at him and not avoiding his gaze.

The next moment Sam wished he had.

Dean's expression was no longer empty. No longer emotionless. He was clenching his jaw, alright, he was pissed as hell. But while the lower part of his face showed his rage, the upper part was a war zone of raw emotions. And Sam knew without the shadow of a doubt that he was the cause. Huge, glassy greens were accusing him, screaming at him. There was disappointment, there was disbelief, even fear. Sam could almost see the big fat 'Why?' hovering above his brother's head, like a giant bold headline for the drama that was about to play out between them.

Kane started to talk but Sam had difficulties to listen to whatever kind of crap he was spilling. Swallowing the lump in his throat and blinking to clear his blurry vision, he took a shaky breath.

"...nothing has changed my mind, guys, I'm still not interested in catching a bullet from Dean Winchester for keeping his little brother as my pet. But it might be pretty handy to have someone I could bully a bit so you, Sam, keep doing what I want you to do."

"You son of a bitch...I will kill you."

"I know, Sammy, understandable, just try to get your timing right, okay?" Kane waved at Annie, cocking his head. "And we're going to remove the little cop lady from the scene, just to be sure."

"You won't touch her."

It were the first words from Dean's mouth proving that he was indeed part of this crappy situation. They were raspy. They were the lowest and coldest growl Sam had ever heard. And they were completely lacking the room for any courtesies.

"Or what, Dean?" Kane's answer was a set of raised eyebrows and a provocative grin. "What are you going to do, huh?" With a flick of Kane's fingers, one of the men holding the older Winchester sprang to action and yanked his knee up, delivering a violent punch to Dean's midriff, eliciting a pained grunt from him and causing him to fold into himself. Dean's legs gave way and if it weren't for the two gorillas holding him upright he would've landed on the ground.

"Stop it", Sam tried to intervene, muscles poised to strike but reason holding him back, "this isn't necessary, please. I'll do what you want, okay?" His whole body was trembling, hate and rage and the inability to do something letting his blood boil. Again, he found himself holding his hands up in a placating manner, casting a panic-stricken glance to his brother who hung his head low and sluggishly tried to get his feet back under him.

What happened next was three things: unexpected, surreal and startling.

Under normal circumstances the command 'POLICE! HANDS WHERE I CAN SEE THEM!', hollered by several strong voices, combined with a cacophony of doors slamming open and guns being cocked was primarily one thing for Sam – a reason to get the hell out of Dodge.

It took him a fraction of a second to get down flat on the ground, hands above his head, before he had time to process what was happening. A few steps away from him, Dean crumbled equally gracelessly to the floor when Kane's men disappeared in a flash, racing towards the other door in panic like headless chickens where they ran straight into a second wall of grim faced police officers.

Sam had never experienced a hurricane before, but he imagined it to be just like that. There was stomping, yelling, fighting, even a gunshot ringing out. The telltale sound of people being shoved into a wall, outcries of pain and anger. Handcuffs clicking. Someone was yelling someone else's rights.

And just like that it was over.

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><p><em>To be continued...<em>


	11. Chapter 11

_I have to admit...I'm too slow. I'm working on chapter 15 at the moment and I guess I have to hurry a bit to finish this thing in time for you to stay updated. If it weren't for friggin real life...anyway, I'm so happy you're still enjoying the story! On with it then..._

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><p><strong>Chapter 11<strong>

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><p>It was hard to handle the wrench.<p>

Not that it was the bandage or his injury he would waste much thought on, jeez, a bruised metacarpal bone was like a common cold for him. It wasn't the heat pressing in on him from all directions, turning his shirt to a sticky something clinging to him, he had somehow adjusted to the desert climate. Even the dust and sand swirling around all the freakin' time, settling on his soaked skin and creeping into every gap of the Impala's engine and therefore being the reason of this little maintenance session didn't bother him too much.

It was the meticulous work that gave him a hard time. The way he had to apply the tool with care and accuracy as not to wreck the sensitive parts of his baby. The way he had to keep the few electronic parts in view and the wires clear and untangled.

Meticulous work. When all Dean yearned for was to take the damn wrench and smash everything that was close by to tiny bits and pieces.

Damn you, Sam.

Without crawling out from beneath the opened hood Dean hurled the wrench away from him, satisfied when the tool impacted with the wooden wall and clattered to the ground, pulling a few other items with it. He gripped the edge of the engine compartment and let his tired eyes wander over his car's insides.

It had been easy to avoid his brother. After the unexpected rescue from their captor's hands by the police Sam, Annie and him had been brought to the hospital for a quick medical check. Dean had made sure to ride in an ambulance on his own, not in the mood to answer all the questions Annie most likely had, and above all that not in the mood to speak to Sam or even look him in the eyes.

Dean had been off the gurney and out of the hospital the second they had let him, had returned to his motel room to get his head clear, to think, to get his temper in check somehow. Of course Annie had brought Sam right onto his doorstep, knowing that this was the only place for Dean to go. She had been irritated and confused when Dean had taken his stuff and had left, had mumbled a 'Let him have the room, I'll sleep in the car.', while Sam had tried to reason with him, the whole 'Dean, let's talk about this!' horse crap.

Now he was here, because Annie being Annie didn't agree with him on the sleeping in the car thing. She had offered Dean to stay in her apartment at first but had accepted his wish to be on his own, to work on the car, to lick his wounds. So she had given him the keys to this, a tiny, wooden cabin in the middle of nowhere, with an open garage that was more like a shelter, barely big enough to house the Impala.

But it was quiet. It was beautiful in it's own way. It smelled of oil color and turpentine because it was Annie's little basement hobby room minus the basement. And minus Sam.

The fact that Dean hadn't swung his fist at his baby brother back on that ranch, surrounded by the police and their kidnappers, hadn't slammed Sam's carefully uttered 'Dean? You okay?' right back into his innocent puppy-face had been sole courtesy of severe self-control. That and the violent pain that had raged up and down his whole body after being shot, burned, possessed, cut and nearly getting a hand broken.

Sam hadn't made the mistake to help him to his feet. He had even been smart enough not to touch him at all. Oh yes, the son of a bitch had known exactly what was good and healthy for him. For a small, frozen moment they had been opposing each other, Sam obviously searching for the right words to say, to make everything nice and good again. Probably with another pack of lies, beautifully draped on a silver platter for the stupid big brother.

Exorcising demons. With his mind. Fuck.

Dean raised an unconscious hand to his collarbone and fought the urge to scratch. He would need a new tattoo. Damn. The pain of getting the now destroyed first one had been unpleasant enough. The pain of the thing being burned away had been even worse.

He was almost sorry for the well-ordered arrest of Kane and his men. No way for a classic face to face. That asshole even had had the decency to smile when he had raised his hands and the cuffs had clicked. Too easy. Kane wasn't dumb. In fact, the man was dangerous and dead smart. He hadn't fought against the police men, hadn't tried to escape like his minions. He had just stood there with a cold smirk until he had been frogmarched off, as if knowing he'd be back.

Of course he'd be back. And if it wouldn't be Kane, it would be some other hunter. Because eventually it would get around, the news of Sam-freaky-Winchester, the hunter with the special abilities. As if they hadn't enough trouble on their asses, with demons and angels after them 24/7. Not to forget all the monsters.

Those his brother was now one of, too.

"Damnit, I don't know how to handle this." Running a trembling oil-crusted hand over his sweaty face Dean clenched his jaw and pushed himself away from the Impala. He stepped out of the small, ramshackle wooden garage and squinted against the relentless sunlight, watching the horizon without actually seeing it.

"Is this what you wanted to tell me?" he roared into the desert laying still and peacefully ahead of him. "Is this what you meant by 'kill Sammy', dad? How did you know? How, huh? How the fuck did you know?" Dean screamed the last part and kicked against an empty oil can which flew threw the heated air and landed a few feet away in the sand. He stumbled backwards and fell against the garage wall where he slid down to the ground, knocking his head repeatedly against the weathered wood in frustration and anger.

How much could a man take? How much could HE take? He had been to hell, had been saved by a weirdo angel caught in a Columbo roleplaying game, was now walking around with memories he never wanted and never would get rid off again, the freakin' apocalypse was too close to comfort and now of all damn times his brother decided to turn into the very things they hunted. What was he supposed to do?

"I don't know", Dean whispered to himself, didn't bother to wipe the tears away which were now crawling down his cheeks freely, "I just don't think I have the strength anymore..."

Totally caught in his breakdown Dean almost missed the soft knock against the opposite wall. Looking up in surprise he flinched when a familiar face appeared, carefully peeking around the corner with huge sad eyes.

"I'm sorry", Annie offered softly, "I didn't mean to startle you, I just thought..." She broke off, looking at him as if asking for permission to be there at all. The uniform had been replaced by casual friday style, jeans and a white t-shirt making her look even younger.

"Hey, uh...", Dean inhaled sharply, rubbing his face, "You didn't...startle me, I was just...well, I was...did a lot of thinking and haven't heard you come." A small surge of anger washed over him. A fine hunter he was, sitting in no-man's-land, crying his eyes out and let himself take by surprise. Sniffing, he scrambled to his feet. The look on Annie's face told him that he should have had hidden the bottle of Jack placed on one of the shelves.

"That your breakfast?" she asked, nodding at it with her eyebrows raised.

"Yeah, well", Dean replied with a sigh, snatching the almost empty bottle and defiantly throwing it through the open window of the Impala where it landed on the passenger's seat, "My way to cope."

"With being kidnapped, being possessed or being at war with your brother?"

"Annie..."

"Listen, I won't pass judgement over you, okay? It's none of my business, what is going on between Sam and you...I don't even think I understand the problem. But I'm worried about you."

"You don't have to, I'm fine."

"No, obviously you're not. And I won't stand here on the sidelines and watch you break into fragments..."

"Then how about you just go away and leave me alone!" It was by far harsher and louder then Dean had intended and he was terribly sorry before the words even left his lips. But somehow it really, really pissed him off that everybody tried to pass the buck to him.

"No." Annie stood and looked at him, her lips pressed together to a thin line. "No, and do you want to know why not? Because for one thing, this is my house, and for another thing Sam and you are clearly not able to work this out between you two."

What was there to work out? Did he want to work it out at all? "It's complicated."

"Isn't it always complicated?"

"We're not talking about 'You wore my favorite hoodie without my permission!', Annie."

"I realize that, Dean, I'm fully aware that Sam and you don't deal with the common sibling quarrels, he gave me the sketch of your family business and in case you forgot, I got a glimpse of the crap you keep stirring up for a living. I'm not here to listen to you pour your heart out and then drive back to Sam to let him do the same, I'm no marriage counsellor. If you feel the need to punch your brother in the face, go ahead and do it, I'll look away as long as you stick to one single punch. But this?" She stepped up to Dean and he flinched when she took his face in her hands, one part of him fighting the urge to shy away while the other wanted so bad to lean into it. When Annie continued, her tone was soft and understanding again. "You've been so eager to get your brother back, Dean. You skipped the hospital when I found you in the desert, you took on Sam's captors when you were in no condition to do so. You love your brother. And whatever he did, I just can't believe it's so awful and unforgivable you'd turn your back on him."

Dean held her gaze for a moment. Relished her big, warm eyes on him, eyes that tried to convince him that everything was going to be okay. Sam probably hadn't told her about hell. About the promise Sam had made to him, only to break it before his body had even turned cold. She didn't – couldn't know what Sam's abilities meant. For their business. For their relationship.

It was well-intentioned. But this was between Sam and him alone.

Dean tenderly grabbed her wrists and pulled her hands away from his face. He offered her a small smile when he noticed the flicker of hurt on her features. "It's not that easy", he said quietly and put Annie's hands down without letting go. He swallowed and allowed her to catch a glimpse at the desperation and rage and frustration raging inside him before he shut himself away again. He turned and started to put the tools away, his tone dropping an octave. "I'll be gone in an hour so you can have your house and life back. I'm sorry we made such a mess."

There was a pause. He felt her eyes on him while he scrunched up a few greasy rags and threw them into a plastic bag. It had been painting rags before Annie had given them to him. They had been colorful and friendly, now they were black. Dirty. Worn. Somehow it reminded him of this fucked up situation. Not that their lives had been colorful and friendly before. But this was manifest evidence that it could always take a turn for worse.

"I didn't mean it like that, Dean." Annie sounded tired. "You can stay as long as you want. And don't be sorry, my life has always been messy."

When Dean turned to her again he found a weak grin on her face. She shrugged and ran a hand through her curls.

"Messy like that kind of messy?" he asked nodding towards the door leading into the small cabin.

"Hey, I'm an artist, okay? Bedlamic is fine for me. Paint and brushes everywhere, I have to be organized and tidy on the job all day, I think that is enough."

Dean raised two placating hands. "I didn't say anything." Another silence occurred between them, this time more eased and relaxed, for which Dean was glad. He had been so caught up in his dark thoughts and despair, it was a refreshing bucket of water for his frustrated frame of mind.

"So, how are you? Physically, I mean. Your hand?" Annie took his bandaged hand in hers and turned it gently, inspecting it. The former stark white dressings had turned greasy and black by now.

"It's fine", he replied, "rebelling sometimes, but nothing serious."

"Head?" she asked on, narrowing her eyes at him.

"I had enough water and sleep, thanks."

"Knee?"

"Geez, I feel like an invalid, doctor Brewster, you can call it a day."

Annie chuckled and let go of Dean's hand, leaving a feeling of loss behind that he tried to ignore. He watched her walk up to the Impala where she took an interested look into the motor compartment.

"So, I have a few interesting facts for you", she said, not looking up.

"For example how your people found us?" Dean looked expectantly at her.

"Mrs Doherty."

He frowned, trying to remember where he had heard the name before. "No way", he snorted when it clicked, "so we've really been suspicious enough for her to call the cops?"

"We've freaked her out, I guess. She came running into the Sheriff's station, describing what she had witnessed. I believe she thought you were the bad guy, kidnapping me or something. Of course, my people didn't know where to look for us, but they had a very good description of the pick up truck thanks to old Mrs Doherty and her photographic memory. A wanted bulletin was given out and then our friends made the mistake to appear in town again with the same pick up."

"And instead of arresting the guys they followed them to the ranch", Dean finished, nodding his head in approval. So much use of brain capacity was rare for cops. He was officially impressed. "How many men have been hauled in ?"

"Seven, including this Kane-guy."

Dean scratched his head. Seven sounded like a lot. Unfortunately it wasn't clear how many men Kane really had crowded round him. Maybe a few had managed to escape. He didn't want to think about that. The more of Kane's men were at large, the bigger the risk of words being spread. About them. About Sam.

"Dean..." Annie started, hesitantly, and Dean knew that this conversation was going to take a turn into a direction he wasn't sure he wanted to go. She didn't look into his eyes, started to fumble with her fingernails instead. "I wanted to...there's a question I wanted to ask. I'm not sure if I overstep a line, but...how does it feel...I mean being...you know..."

"Possessed?" he finished the sentence for her. An everyday word for him. Obviously a strange one for others. For normal people. Dean noticed a flicker of relief rushing over Annie's face when she didn't have to voice it.

"Yes...do you...it's okay if you don't want to..."

"It's ugly", Dean replied, a part of him trying to clam up immediately, hoping that this was enough of an explanation. But he knew it wasn't. Couldn't be. He owed her the answers to the gazillion questions swirling around in her brain, he had been the one who had dragged her into this. The least he could do was to man up about his everyday business. "You're a prisoner in your own body, your own mind. You see, you hear, you even feel. But nothing is yours, you know."

Dean shuddered at the memories he had tried to stow away. Right next to the other memories he wanted to forget so badly. He had to build a bigger storage room in his melon.

"Does it hurt?" Annie asked cautiously.

"When the demon leaves the body it hurts, yes. When it enters it..." He shrugged and cleared his throat, tried to switch to hunter mode. To explain it as a professional hunter to a victim. Not as a victim to an onlooker watching from the sidelines. "I don't know, I didn't even realize that I was possessed at first. When they burned the tattoo I passed out, they must have hauled the thing inside me while I was busy counting stars. So I don't know how it feels when it enters the body, but I guess it hurts too."

"Wait...what kind of tattoo? What do you mean, they burned it?"

Dean swallowed and gripped the collar of his shirt, pulling it down. He winced when the sweaty material came off the still sore burn. Annie gasped at the sight. "Why isn't it bandaged? Dean, this should be..." He caught her wrist before she could touch him. The idea of another person probing and poking at the freakin' scab made him shiver, no matter how gentle and careful Annie would be.

"No, it's okay, stop fidgeting, Annie." Dean didn't look down at the damaged tattoo, knowing full well that he wouldn't be able to take a proper look at it without a mirror anyway. He wasn't keen on the sight either. "It looks worse than it is, really."

"Why did they do that?" It was barely a whisper, unbelieving and disgusted.

"This symbol prevents demonic possession. Makes it impossible for a demon to take over the human body. But when it's marred, when the lines are broken, it's useless." Dean tried a fragile smile and shrugged. "Open house, so to say."

Annie shook her head slowly and glared at him. "That's not funny."

He could have offered her one of his classic retorts. The usual 'it's a little funny' he always had up his sleeve. But the way she looked at him, those huge glassy eyes full of unshed tears. She wasn't pitying him, she was suffering with him. For him.

"Listen, I'm okay. Okay?" Dean ducked his head, made himself smaller, trying to be at eye level with her, "really, it's not that bad." She wasn't believing any of his words, Dean could see that. But she didn't answer back, just sniffed and looked away. Maybe they could postpone this conversation, change the topic, change the mood. Maybe it was the best if Annie would get into her car and drive back into town. He could use a few more hours on his own. But on the other hand, he didn't want to be alone, either.

"Your life sucks ass, you know that?" Annie grumbled, trying to keep up the fragile glare. When a single tear ran down her cheek, looking utterly out of place next to the tough exterior, Dean couldn't help but wipe it carefully away with his thumb, leaving a faint smear of engine oil behind. Instead of letting go of her, he let his hand wander through her hair to the back of her neck.

"I know it does", he replied softly, caving in to the sudden need of pulling her close, "that's the reason I'm gonna take it with me when I leave. I want you to go on and forget about all this, you hear me?"

Annie didn't fight him, rested her head against his chest. "I don't want you to go."

Oh yeah, those were exactly the moments Dean could do without. Goodbyes. Leaving people behind he had learned to trust, to love, only because he had to protect them. To be on the road with a brother who constantly lied to him. Annie was right, this sucked. Ass.

He swallowed, placing a kiss on the top of her head. "I have to. Trust me, you don't want me to be around."

Two opportunities. He could go and smash something to smithereens because this was exactly what Dean wanted to do right now. Roaring, screaming, yelling the world to leave him alone, rue the day those freaking angels had decided to snatch him from hell because honestly, this mess was pretty much the same level of torture he had endured for the last months and years. Or he could let himself be caught, for once, even if it was just a ledge braking his fall without stopping it altogether, could forget who he was and how much he was carrying on his shoulders and just be a person.

Annie arched her neck so she could look up at him. "So, this is goodbye?" she asked.

"I guess." With that he took her face into his hands and closed their distance, his slightly parted lips colliding with hers to a determinate but tender kiss. He shuddered when he felt her hands on him, long fingers caressing his bare arms, a touch so gentle he couldn't remember the last time he had been touched like this.

Their kiss intensified, passion and desire increasing with every second, timidity giving way for lust. Like a dancer leading his partner Dean steered them in a full rotation, changing places with Annie so she was pressed against the wooden wall now. Without interrupting their kiss his hands wandered downward, slowly skimming along her throat, her small breasts, her stomach.

Another wave of need slammed into him when he explored the soft skin that lay beneath the sweat-soaked fabric of Annie's shirt, the blinding sensation enhanced by her leg sliding between his thighs, making it almost impossible for him to keep standing upright with his knees buckling, one still throbbing and actually still out of order.

With a soft moan he pulled back from her, not wanting to but realizing that he was completely out of breath. Panting, he laid his forehead on hers, his eyes staying shut. He didn't want this moment to end, didn't want it to be over too fast. Which, come to think of it, was a pretty ambitious plan given the circumstances of him being a man and having spent half a lifetime in a place where the only touch he had earned from someone had been pure pain and torture.

"You okay?" It was a breathy whisper, but it held so much care it made Dean's heart ache.

"Yeah", he replied, his own voice husky and sandpaper-like. He opened his eyes and looked at Annie, her lips red and swollen, her face glistening with sweat, "Yeah. Right now, I'm okay." And he believed it. As if he had given his consent to his own doing, a confirmation that things could be set right again, Dean let go, pushed the thoughts and memories away and let himself fall.

He gripped the back of her thighs and lifted her up with no effort, holding her up against the wall with his hips. The way she wrapped her legs around his waist, tightening and pulling him even closer, her hands fisting his hair was almost enough to send him to the edge. Gone was the wariness, the cravenness, replaced by hunger and want, their touch morphing from sensual to almost vigorous.

Their lips met again for a hard and relentless kiss, slamming together like waves on the shore, parting only when Annie pulled Dean's shirt off over his head. He felt her nails on his skin, digging into the tender flesh on his back, felt her tightening her legs once more, inviting him.

It took Dean four long strides from the garage to his makeshift bed inside the cabin carrying his precious cargo. Surrounded by oil colors, brushes, finished and unfinished paintings he sank down to his knees on the mattress, keeping Annie in his lap while his mouth wandered along her jaw and throat. Once again his lips had to leave her skin when he got rid of her shirt only to capture her mouth with his again the second the garment was gone.

Dean shuddered once more, arousal running through him like electricity, a creeping current that screamed to be taken care of, to be satisfied, but on the other hand would be sadly missed when it'd be gone. Annie's movements in his lap, no less intense with them both still wearing jeans, her warm skin on his, her breasts pressed against his chest after her bra was gone – Dean tried to concentrate on every part, tried to relish every piece.

He pushed her backwards gently, entwining her waist with one arm so she wouldn't land too hard. When his lungs craved for precious oxygen once more, he pulled back again, looking at her, their heavy breathing completely in sync. It wasn't just a pause, a small break. He was asking for permission. To go on. To use her. Because they both knew that it was nothing else. He would be gone in a few hours and he wouldn't come back to her ever again. To offer her to stop was the least he could do.

Annie's eyes flickered over his face and she put a hand on his cheek, running her thumb over his lips in a fondly gesture. She then met his gaze and held it for a moment before she gripped the back of his neck and pulled him down to her, crushing his lips with hers.

This was her answer. The ledge that would catch Dean's fall, even if it was only for a short amount of time. He would hold onto it as long as he could.

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><p><em>To be continued...<em>


	12. Chapter 12

_Let's get emotional, shall we..._

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><p><strong>Chapter 12<strong>

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><p>There was no message. No voicemail, no text message.<p>

With a low growl Sam threw his cell phone towards his bed, not bothering when it jumped over the ruffled bedclothes and slammed against the wall. No call. Not a single 'I'm fine, Sam'. Not even a simple 'You asshole'. He knew that his brother was capable of childish behavior, but this was a whole new level.

Raking his hair, Sam looked around in the room, uncertain what to do next. It had been three days now, three days since Dean had marched out of this room like an angry bull, had taken the car and had left. And no matter how hard Sam had tried to get something out of Annie, how often he had tried to call Dean, his pissed brother had vanished without a trace.

Of course Annie hid him somewhere, so much he was sure of. He had even followed her to her apartment two days ago, but Dean hadn't been there. So it was a needle in a damn haystack to find him now, he could be anywhere.

Sam started pacing, hissing curses through gritted teeth. That son of a bitch. At least he could listen. At least he could sit down and let Sam explain so they could talk about it, find a way to cope with the situation. Oh, wait, Dean Winchester didn't do talking. Period.

A knock on the door put a halt to Sam's pacing.

He straightened, narrowed his eyes and reached for the gun in his waistband. "Who's there?" he asked, walking up to the door slowly.

"It's me."

Many emotions flashed through Sam at hearing the voice. There was relief, there was joy, there was anger. Even hope made itself known, a tiny flicker, the possibility that things could be worked out again between them within his reach. He opened the door one quick look through the peephole later to find Dean glaring at him, bag over his shoulder, car keys dangling from his fingers.

Oh yeah. Still pissed. This was going to be fun.

"Huh." Sam stepped aside when Dean stormed past him into the room and threw the bag onto the bed, still limping, whatever had happened to his leg or knee.

"What?" his older brother spat, so much venom in his voice that the room went colder in seconds. He didn't turn to face Sam, instead he started to rummage around in the duffel bag.

Uncertain how to approach Dean, Sam pushed the door closed and shrugged. "I'm just surprised to see you, that's all. I'm glad you came back. Where...uh..where have you been?"

"Out of your reach."

Sam pressed his lips together and nodded. "Okay. Fair enough, I guess." Taking a deep breath, he tried to keep his calm and find the right words. He took a step closer to Dean. "Look..."

Which turned out to be a big mistake.

He didn't even see Dean move, only felt the right hook connect with the side of his face with so much force it made Sam almost lose his footing. The impact was accompanied by a sickening crunch, Sam's head whipping round and his vision switching to a colorful blur. A metallic taste filled his mouth right along with a decent swelling of his bottom lip.

He was probably fortunate that his head was still attached to his body and not rolling around on the carpet.

"What the hell, Dean!" he bellowed when the first dizziness retreated and was replaced by rage. Straightening clumsily Sam looked at his brother who still stood beside his bag, flashing his eyes at him, hands balled to fists, the muscle in his jaw jumping dangerously.

"Funny that you ask", Dean growled, "and here's me thinking I should ask you the exact same question. Seriously, I don't know where to start. Should I be mad at you for breaking your promise, for jumping into that rabbit hole on purpose, giving my corpse the one-finger salute with a big fat grin on your face? Or should I break your face for not telling me what's going on? What you're capable of?"

"You could let me explain everything for starters..."

"I don't know if I want an explanation, Sam."

"Just hear me out, okay? Listen to me..."

"No, I don't want explanations, I want answers, I want the truth, I want to know what's gotten into you."

"Dean..."

"Who taught you this, huh? How did you learn this freakin' little trick? How the hell is it even possible to learn something like that?"

Sam looked down, burying his hopes to solve this the quiet and reasonable way. Whatever he was going to say, it was going to be ugly. There was no way to go easy on Dean.

"Sam?" Dean's impatience cut through him like an icy sword.

"It was Ruby."

The silence in the room was deafening. Sam could almost hear Dean blink at him. "Remember the things she offered before you went to hell? About me get ready for Lilith, make me strong to face her?" Sam watched Dean, waited for a reaction, any reaction. "After you were gone, Ruby came back. She taught me."

Dean didn't move, just looked back at him, processing the news. Sam held his brother's gaze, steeling himself for whatever was about to come. A part of him was glad that he was finally forced to bring things out into the open. The other part dreaded to go on, urged him to just walk out of the room.

"Look, I know you're angry, I know, I should have talked to you..."

"'Angry' doesn't even cover it, Sam", Dean interrupted, his voice eerily low, "See, it's not only the the things you didn't tell me. Remember our little conversation in the car, when I asked you what happened to Ruby?"

_'What about Ruby, where is she?'_

_'Dead. I don't know.'_

Sam sighed. "I didn't want to agitate you..."

Dean pulled his head back in a 'you're kidding' gesture. "Agitate me? Who are you, my nurse?"

"What was I supposed to say, that we hang around together? You were just back from hell, Dean, I didn't want to have the same old arguments about her all over again, I was glad to have you back."

Dean was clearly not satisfied with this answer. "So you thought it's better to just leave me in the dark about her survival?"

"Yeah, because I knew you'd react like this, I had to witness your freakouts often enough when it came to her. You hate her..."

"Of course I hate her, she's a freakin' demon, she's an advisory member of the very squad that brought us right into this mess!" Dean took a menacing step forward and Sam straightened, standing his ground. Should his brother take a swing at him again, he was ready. "And the entire time while you two were eating popcorn and exorcising demons have you ever wondered why she was able to come back, Sam? She was a traitor, backstabbing Lilith, so why for the love of God should she be able to walk out of the pit just like that? Why would Lilith allow that?"

"She got her punishment."

"Oh, that so?"

"Yes. She's a fugitive. It's not that Lilith has let her go, she paid her dues, you know." Sam remembered Ruby's words back in the Impala while she was wearing that secretary. He had been so angry with her, the way she had boasted of her masterly performance to get out of the pit while Dean was still there, still suffered. He looked up at his brother, how he stood before him now, alive and kicking and furious and ready to rip his head off, and still a tiny flicker of gratefulness mixed into Sam's tension.

"Well, thank God, now I'll sleep better at night knowing that."

"Stop it, Dean. I'm not going to have this conversation with you, it's not Ruby we're discussing here."

Dean raised his eyebrows. "Okay, let's switch to another topic then, how about 'my brother sucked me dry and exorcised me afterwards with the power of his mind'?"

Thunderstruck, Sam swallowed. He looked down, shame and anger forcing him to avoid Dean's eyes. Shame because it hadn't been his most honorable action. Anger because he had saved his brother by exorcising that demon and all he got were reproaches and a nice dressing-down.

"I'm sorry, Dean", he offered quietly, "I had to do this. It was the only way. It's...the demon was right, I need some kind of...fuel. Demon blood." Dean's expression was a mixture of disgust and sadness and Sam had enough. "You don't want to hear it, am I right?" he hissed, clenching his jaw, "You can't accept it because you don't understand..."

"Then explain it to me, Sam!" Dean shouted, throwing his arms into the air, "Damnit, I'm trying to understand..."

"No, you don't", Sam shot back, "you're so full of prejudice and rage and bitterness, it doesn't matter what I say or try to explain, you're going to rant and tell me how much of a freak I am anyway."

"Why are you so convinced that this is right? Those...powers are clearly not human, not natural."

"Could you for once please see the other side here and ignore your brain screaming at you that there's only black and white? We can save people. We don't have to kill them with the knife. I can use my abilities to do good things. Not everything supernatural is bad."

A pained smile appeared on Dean's face. "Is that what you think?" he asked in an almost whisper. The sudden change of volume was extremely irritating.

Sam's shoulders sagged. He knew he hadn't been able to get through to his stubborn brother. He probably never would. The tiny hope he had tried to keep in his grasp trickled through his fingers. "Yes, that's what I think", he answered.

Dean nodded. Defeated. Tired. Disappointed. "Back in the cabin", he said, his deep voice unusually fragile, "I was forced to listen to that demon. I had to hear it sneer and taunt and tell me those things about you. The only thing that kept me sane in there was my trust in you. I knew the thing was lying, trying to set me against you. The whole time I was able to ignore it because I knew you wouldn't have done that, I was so sure you had kept your promise."

Sam swallowed hard, a lump forming in his throat. "Dean..."

Dean's stone-like appearance started to crumble. He shook his head and blinked, running a hand over his face while he slowly turned away from Sam, who desperately wanted to howl, to throw something, slam a fist into the wall in frustration. He started to believe that the demon might have been right.

_'Me whizzing back into the pit by your hands…or hand…it's a pretty heavy blow to your brotherly relationship. And that makes me grin, wide and toothy.'_

When Dean started to talk again, his voice had lost all it's anger. "And then the demon let me witness everything from front row. I don't know what hurt more. How you tore the thing out of me...or that you were actually able to do so just like that."

A silence occurred between them, heavy and thick like molasses. Sam wanted to make it right, if he only knew what to say. Why had Dean to make it so hard? Why couldn't he just accept and maybe even welcome Sam's new abilities. Why were other hunters so keen on controlling and using them while his own brother didn't, fought tooth and nail against them?

Dean looked around in the room as if searching for something that wasn't there. He was looking for words. For answers. For an advice. He walked up to the small kitchenette, saying nothing. For a weird moment Sam thought he was about to make coffee. But when Dean swiped the small coffee machine including everything else beside it from the small countertop with an ferocious howl, Sam fought the urge to shrink back. The small coffeepot landed on the tiled floor and shattered to smithereens, accompanied by the two mugs, which had been ugly but at least useful to this moment.

Sam said nothing. There was nothing to say. No 'Calm down', no 'Stop it, Dean' would do anything good now. Fighting tears of frustration he raked sweaty hands through his hair. He locked eyes with Dean when he turned to him again, desperation and sorrow etched onto his face.

"You're using demonic powers. You're working with a demon." Dean's tone was surprisingly soft. Not a good sign. At all. "In my books, you're not better than them."

The words hit home. Sam blinked at his brother. "You don't mean that."

"And I don't think I can trust you. Not now. Not anymore."

"Dean, listen..."

An rap on the door sliced into their argument like a giant whip. Sam didn't want to react, wasn't ready to open or answer the door, damnit, they weren't done here, they needed more time. He needed more time. He held Dean's gaze, beseeching him to keep his attention with him.

Stay with me. Give me the chance to make this right. Please.

But when Annie's voice sounded from outside, out of breath, her tone holding urgency and impatience, his older brother's glassy eyes darted over to the closed door. Sam saw Dean shake himself, watched him regain his composure. He closed his eyes when his big brother started to move towards the door, felt him walk past to open it.

"Dean. Sam. You two okay?" Annie asked, and she sounded oddly relieved. Opening his eyes and turning toward her, Sam tried to carry it off well, which was hard work. He liked her, but right now she was an intruder, her voice an unwelcome noise he wanted to shut off. Even the almost inaudible rustling of her uniform was enough to grate on his nerves.

If she'd known Dean better she would have noticed his strained voice, how much of an effort it was to sound nonchalant. Or maybe she looked right through him and was wise enough not to ask further. "Yeah", he rasped and cleared his throat, "what is it? Is something wrong?"

"You could say so." She let out an anxious sigh. Only then Sam realized how stressed she looked. "It's Kane. He escaped."

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><p><em>To be continued...<em>


	13. Chapter 13

_Eeww, I'm late. I was horse riding with my son today, I pulled the horse and he kept feeling like a cowboy sitting on it. Thing is, the 'horse' had the size of a big dog, if I had sat on it my feet would've touched the ground. Sweet little thing called 'Winnetou'._

_Anway, I'm pretty far behind with answering all your lovely reviews as well, which isn't nice and I'm going to do something about it. Watch me._

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><p><strong>Chapter 13<strong>

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><p>"What?" Dean wished he had misheard the last part. Somehow this was getting too much right now. Pushing the door closed with a little bit too much force he remembered waking up alone this morning. Here was the explanation for Annie's early start.<p>

"A few state police officers picked him up this morning. Don't ask me how, but he managed to get the better of them and escaped with the car."

"How is that even possible, what kind of morons did they send, for christ's sake?"

"Hey, not my men, okay?" Annie returned petulantly, "My people wouldn't have let him run off like that, believe me."

Dean wasn't in the mood to apologize. He had other problems at the moment, there was no room for a sadistic psycho on his to-do-list. He pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed, not bothering to stifle the unnerved groan that escaped with it.

"What happened here?" He looked up to find Annie standing beside the kitchenette, eyeing the mess on the floor. "The coffee's not that bad, you know."

"It's okay", Sam spoke up for the first time since Annie's arrival, "we're going to take care of it later." Dean wearily watched him push a few of the bigger shards aside with his boot. He knew that Sam wasn't done, that Annie's appearance didn't agree with him. For him, the matter was still up in the air.

For Dean, it wasn't. And if she wouldn't have showed up, he couldn't have guaranteed for anything anymore.

He caught Annie's worried gaze and ignored it. "Any leads? Do they know where to look for Kane? Where he's headed? His plans?" he asked.

She shook her head. "The guy's like fallen off the face of the earth. Problem is, with the police car he stole he also has access to our police radio. So he knows that we're looking for him and where."

It was a good thing that the only coffeepot in the room had already ceased to be. "Awesome..."

"I wonder if he's still after me", Sam said, leaning against the fridge and crossing his arms.

"Probably, yeah." Dean looked at his younger brother, narrowing his eyes. What kind of question was that? "That's why we're going to pack our stuff together and leave."

Sam's head snapped up. "What? Why?"

Fighting the urge to roll his eyes Dean shot him a warning glance. "Because we still don't know what the guy's up to, that's why. If he gets you we don't know what he'll do to you, how his 'I use Sam Winchester as my personal weapon of choice' might play out."

Sam was clearly not happy with the decision. "So what, we chicken out and run away? That's the plan?" He pushed himself off the fridge and straightened, returning Dean's glare with one of his own.

"That's exactly what we do." Dean's tone was quiet and calm, but it held a threat. The 'Another word and I'm going to silence you, brother or not' kind of threat.

"He's right, Sam", Annie tried to intervene, "the man is dangerous, you know that better than us..."

"Kane's alone, we can fight him!"

"You don't know that, they haven't caught all of his men, he might have had help with his big escape and in the meantime he could have gathered another wolf pack around him, we don't know what to expect."

"Oh come on, you want to let him go? After all he did to us? What's wrong with you, Dean? You wouldn't have let him go before..." Sam broke off and shut his mouth. Dean didn't know if he had ceased speaking because of Annie's presence or because he had noticed that he had stumbled onto dangerously thin ice.

"Before what?" the older Winchester growled and tilted his head, nostrils flaring. Sam swallowed and looked away. "Before what, Sam?" Dean repeated slowly, knowing he wouldn't get an answer. What did that son of a bitch think he was? What had happened to Sam during those months? It was one way to discuss a decision Dean had made, nothing new here, it was Sam's MO to question decisions. But to pull THAT card. To assume he might have become soft or unreasonable or whatever Sam was thinking he was since he was out of the pit...that was just plain barefaced.

"Guys", Annie spoke up cautiously, clearly noticing that there was more to the tension between the brothers, "maybe we should at least head over to the police station. I'm not sure if Kane knows where you two are, but if he had help I'm sure they know and at the station we could at least protect you."

Dean heard her, but didn't reply. Somehow the main reason for this discussion had become awfully ridiculous.

"He's a hunter, Sam", he uttered in a low voice, "not the normal, run-of-the-mill-guy, but a dangerous, sick one at that. He's neither scared nor troubled knowing about your powers, he wants you as his personal trophy, his own little weapon of mass destruction, and come to think of it this is our luck because if he were a normal hunter he might do what I can't, and that's doing his freakin' job and kill you."

There, he had said it. The look of shock on Sam's face could have been satisfying. It could have triggered a _tee-hee, suck on that_ from Dean. It didn't. The sudden silence in the room was crushing, the walls weren't lifeless structures of stone and wood anymore. Instead, they seemed to move in on Dean, accusing him for the words he had just thrown at his brother, for not being able to keep his rage in check.

It seemed like an eternity before Sam opened his mouth to reply. "So it's the 'I'm a monster and monsters have to be killed' debate again, is that it?" he choked out, his voice resembling a tightrope walker, swaying on a very thin rope being at risk to drop. His glistening eyes were wide with disbelief.

Dean held Sam's appalled gaze for a few seconds longer before he turned his attention to his stuff on the bed. Thank God he hadn't unpacked anything. "We go. Now."

When he shouldered his bag and left the room, Dean was glad he hadn't had to look into those eyes anymore.

* * *

><p>It was barely ten o'clock but the sun was burning down relentlessly. Leaning against the already heated up body of the Impala with his arms crossed, Dean stared into space.<p>

Sometimes Sam was like a little child. There was no way to convince him with reason or facts, he had to run his head against every wall, pushing every button over and over until even the most patient creature would lose all self-control.

Dean hadn't wanted to say what he had said. It was one of those remarks slipping out whenever his brother was pushing the big red button one time too often and too hard. No, Dean wasn't proud of himself right now.

_I want you to watch out for Sammy. I want you to take care of him, okay? Save him, nothing else matters. If you can't do that, Dean, you might have to..._

"No", Dean growled, forcefully pushing away from the car and running a trembling hand over his face. Screw you, dad. They had defeated the yellow-eyed demon, hadn't they? That was what his father had meant, right? This demonic-power-thing, Sam's new abilities, they had nothing to do with those warnings dad had decided to make his famous last words. It was a fucking coincidence, and they would deal with it.

Fuck.

A door behind him snapped shut but Dean couldn't find the strength to turn around. He dreaded the several hours that lay before him, trapped in an overheated car with a brooding, sulking Sam. Good times.

"I won't ask if you're alright."

A part of him breathed easily. Another part drifted towards sorrow and he couldn't stop it.

"Good." He turned around and looked at her. Annie had had a rough morning, as much Dean could see. He felt sorry for her, since he knew that she hadn't slept very much last night. Shaking off the vivid recollections he watched her wander around the Impala with her arms around her as if feeling cold. She looked so fragile and vulnerable Dean wanted to embrace and hold her close, and not only for her sake. "I'm sorry we brought this mess into your town. This is all our fault."

"No, it isn't. It's my job, remember?"

"The job you love so much."

"Yeah. Believe it or not, this is fun. No cats needing to be saved from trees, no prepubescents needing to be saved from their parents, just some demons and villains and all that stuff. Gotta love it."

This elicited a snort from Dean. "Yeah, gotta love it", he mumbled and cast a glance over to their motel room door. The action didn't pass undetected by Annie.

"Sam and you...will you two be alright?" she asked quietly, tilting her head as if trying to read the man in front of her. For a second Dean was about to reply with the usual 'Of course', a stock phrase he always used like 'I'm fine' or 'I'll call you later'. But it was a lie, a big fat lie even he couldn't bring himself to tell. Truth was that he hadn't the answer to that question. Months ago an 'Of course' would have been enough. But now? After hell, after Sam and his...transformation or whatever this was, Dean wasn't sure if they were still the men they had been before. And he wasn't sure if they could repair the bridge between them in time before it would collapse right before their eyes.

Shaking himself mentally Dean sniffed. "Don't let this turn into your problem, Annie. Sam and me..." He shrugged, "we'll deal with this the way we always deal with such crap. Promise me you won't lose any sleep over us, okay?" He still couldn't bring himself to touch her even if he wanted. She wore her uniform. There were people around. They hadn't made clear how secret and private this thing between them was. Had to be. Geez, she could've been married and he wouldn't know.

"What about Kane? I have a bad feeling about him. What if he comes looking for you?"

"I'm sure he has other problems."

"How about a convoy? I can do without a few of my men, they could escort you out of the desert..."

"Your men and you are needed here, okay?" Again, the sound of a door attracted Dean's attention. This time it was Sam dragging his stuff from the room, squinting in the bright sunlight. He met Dean's eyes only for a second before he approached the open trunk and hauled his bag and a few clothes inside. The older Winchester reckoned Sam would vanish inside the car immediately, but he didn't. Rounding the Impala he walked up to Annie with a small smile on his face.

"So, this is goodbye, huh?" she asked him, returning the smile.

"Thank you for everything. We owe you", came Sam's reply. And he meant it.

"Never mind. Take care of yourself, okay? And take care of your brother here." She engulfed him in a bear hug which looked oddly funny given the difference between Sam's and her size. From the jumping muscle in Sam's jaw Dean could see that his little brother wasn't sure what to reply.

"I do my best", he then said, pulling away from Annie. With another quick look at Dean he went back to the passenger door and slid inside. He gave Annie and him time for themselves. Or it was his defiant way to tell Dean that he was here and ready and waiting for him now.

Pushing his current grudge aside Dean looked at the woman in front of him. He would probably never see her again. He had involuntarily introduced her to a world she shouldn't have come to know and if she'd become crazy due to that, he could take up the cause of it. But she had survived, and that was a big fat bonus on his list of innocents who had died because of him, only because they had been in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Dean looked at her, tried to brand the sight on his mind, remembered her smell, her touch, the way her curls had gotten caught in his hands. Her courage when they had tried to get Sam out, her professionalism when she had found him half-dead out there in the desert, how she had patched him up. He would never see her again, which was probably the best, because eventually she would find out about him, about the Winchesters. Then she would either be the professional and arrest them. Or she would get into trouble for letting them go.

His life sucked.

"Falling rocks won't ever be the same again, you know", Annie stated and came up to him, chuckling softly. She raised a hand to Dean's chest and started to brush at a stain on his shirt Dean was sure wasn't there. So he wasn't the only one considering this situation as awkward. "Where will you and Sam go? You haven't told me where you live. Where's your home?"

Dean swallowed the snort that was about to burst out of him. Telling her that they stood right in front of his 'home' would make her feel bad, so it was probably better to keep that fact to himself.

"Sam and me, we're doing our own little road movie, you know. With all those things out there it's not easy to settle down."

With his thoughts already moving on to their next case, next argument or next problem, Dean was caught off guard when Annie closed the gap between them, laid a hand on his cheek and kissed him, slowly, softly. It was far away from the way they had kissed before, but it was equally loving and not less valuable. It was Dean's last chance to absorb some of the woman he had got to know and learned to love. He didn't move, didn't touch her, kept his hands by his sides, although it hurt. This was goodbye, everything he did would make their parting harder.

When she pulled back she looked at him, almost through him and for a second Dean felt awfully exposed. "I hope you will settle down one day, Dean", Annie whispered, running a thumb over his lips, a familiar gesture Dean would probably miss the most, "I hope one day you'll be able to leave all this behind and have the life you want and deserve." Her hand slid from his cheek down along his throat and came to a halt on chest. She then pushed him gently backwards, nodding at the car. "Go. It's time."

Unable to say all the things he wanted to say, Dean simply blinked and reached for the door handle. "Take care, you hear?" he ordered. Then he gave a her a wink and slid behind the steering wheel. The sound of the big car rumbling to life when he turned the key was the first step back to their normalcy.

The silence in the car was both, awkward and welcome.

With the radio turned off and the side windows wide open the only noise inside was the constant and almost slumberous murmur of the Impala's tires on the asphalt, the warm airstream and the concentration on the road ahead being the only things keeping Dean from being lulled to sleep.

And the tension, of course.

Since they had left the town half an hour ago Sam hadn't done much more than look outside, watching the scenery whooshing past. Nothing Dean was surprised about. He just would've preferred to know in which direction his brother's imminent outburst of emotions would drift.

If it were up to Dean no outburst of any emotion would be handled during their drive. He wasn't in the mood to listen to another avalanche of accusations and no way would he sit and accept any kind of excuses. No 'I'm sorry, Dean's and no 'You ignorant son of a bitch's. If it were up to him this subject would be on hold until they arrived wherever they were currently heading.

Until he had at least one hand free to either pat Sam's shoulder or punch his nose if necessary.

Clearing his throat, it crossed Dean's mind that they had completely forgot breakfast. Somehow eating hadn't fit into their schedule this morning. "You hungry?"

Sam shifted in his seat, rearranging his long legs in the footwell. For a second Dean thought he wouldn't get an answer, the 'you ignorant son of a bitch, I won't talk to you as long as I decide when it's the right time to talk to you again' kind of reaction.

"I could eat", came the reply, and to Dean's surprise it sounded neither flippant nor sulky.

"Okay. So the next diner is ours then." Slowly, the tension in the car retreated. It wasn't gone, there was still a giant pink elephant in the back seat, it's eyes darting expectantly from Dean to Sam. But it was a start.

The boys lapsed into silence again. When Dean noticed that his brother started to fidget with his fingers, he let out a sigh. "Sam, don't."

"We're not done, Dean."

"I know but..." The older Winchester tried to swallow the rising frustration and keep his tone calm, "Not now, okay? I'm hungry, I'm not very objective at the moment. You have to give me some time."

"Don't you think you had enough time? Wherever you've been the last three days?" For the first time since they had hit the road Sam looked directly at him, it felt weird and penetrative to the point where Dean was glad he had to keep his eyes on the asphalt. They had left the flat part of the desert and were driving through the mountainous region now, with giant rocks and steep faces to their right and the drop-off to their left.

"Sam..."

"It's okay, I know." Sam shrugged. "I can give you some time, no problem. Sounds actually pretty good."

Dean frowned. "What do you mean?"

"It means you're at least trying to deal with this...subject." A noise sounding suspiciously like a snort escaped Sam's mouth.

Dean opened his mouth to defend himself, but stopped short at the sound. When he dared to cast a quick glance over to his sibling, he saw Sam smile, a small but grateful smile. And for a bitter moment he realized that those smiles had become very rare lately.

"Whatever, let's get out of this dusty mess and find..." Dean's eyes darted to the fuel gauge by force of habit. "Aw, crap."

"What is it?" Sam noticed the alarm in his brother's voice immediately.

"We're almost out of gas."

"What? How's that possible, I thought you had filled her up?"

"I did!" Dean snapped and took his foot from the gas pedal instantly, slowing down in order to save the fuel they had still left.

From the corner of his eyes Dean noticed that Sam was watching him. "So, how's it that we're out of gas?"

"That is a really, really good question, Sam, as soon as I have an answer to it I'll let you know, okay?" Checking the gauge again, the older hunter tried to asses the amount of gasoline they had obviously lost. He knew he had filled his baby up, and he knew he had seen the pointer indicate 'F' right before they had left the town. Had he missed something when he had overhauled the car back at Annie's cabin? Was is possible that he hadn't noticed a possible leak in the gas tank?

Dean pulled the Impala over, coming to an abrupt halt at the side of the road. Cursing, he jumped out, inspecting the stretch that lay behind them. There was indeed a respectable trace of gasoline on the road, following the Impala to the shoulder.

"Fuck!" Dropping to his knees, Dean crawled beneath the big car on his back. He had to blink against the heat emanating from the underbody and stifled a cough when a cloud of dust engulfed him immediately. He was about to shout for a flashlight but decided that he didn't need one. The crack in the tank was wide enough to be noticed without the help of an additional light source, so was the aromatic smell of gasoline.

The creaking of the passenger side door followed by the sound of two giant boots crunching on gravel announced Sam's careful approach. "Do you need something?" Dean heard him ask from somewhere beside the Impala.

"Yeah. Duct tape", he replied, narrowing his eyes and inspecting the damage, "and something I can vent my spleen on."

"Do we have a leak?" Sam's voice wandered to the left and the trunk was opened, followed by the sound of him rummaging through the organized mess. A few seconds later Dean noticed the requested item roll towards him and Sam's face appearing beside the exhaust pipe, little brother kneeling in the sand and declaring his solidarity with him.

"Yep. Can't remember hitting something big enough to tear the tank open, though."

Sam was obviously not convinced. "And you think duct tape works?"

"No. It's more a makeshift solution until we find a gas station that hopefully inhabits an auto shop." After wrapping the torn open tank more or less artistically Dean crawled out from underneath his baby and scrambled back to his feet, chewing his bottom lip and knocking off the dust from his shirt and jeans.

Sam scrutinized him. "I don't like that look on your face, man."

"You're not going to like the look on my face when we don't find a solution for this." Remembering the hours he had spent in this part of the desert days ago, Dean cringed. He jerked his head. "Hop in. We have to find a gas station."

* * *

><p><em>To be continued...<em>


	14. Chapter 14

_Happy sunday to all of you!  
>On with the story...<em>

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 14<strong>

* * *

><p>"Please, don't let that be a freakin' Fata Morgana!" Dean groaned, squinting through the windshield. What had looked like an accommodating car at first had turned out to be a building, and now, only a few miles away, it actually seemed as if luck was on the Winchester's side for once.<p>

"I don't believe it", Sam chuckled, "this has to be the only gas station far and wide."

"Yep, and it's ours."

"Have we lost any more fuel?"

"No, but I won't rely on a duct tape tourniquet while driving through America's hottest landscape." Slowly, the iron-like clamp that had held Dean in it's tight grip since the damage had been discovered worked itself loose. The older Winchester was finally able to relax a bit.

The small gas station fit perfectly into this forsaken part of the state. It had probably been a sophisticated little place once, back in the late 60s or 70s. Stylish and colorful, until the desert had reclaimed what belonged to it. Years of relentless heat, wearing sandstorms and constant drought had turned the colors of the outer walls to a shabby, rusty pattern, the huge shop windows had gotten clouded over the years. Countless advertising signs in different sizes and shapes formed a loud contrast to the pale remnants of paint.

When Dean brought the Impala to a halt beside one of the four petrol pumps he noticed a giant sign that was probably as old as the station itself.

" 'The best place to have a breakdown!' " he read out aloud, " 'Enjoy the glorious view while your car enjoys the best service!' You know, I want to use my gun on that sign. Now."

Sam snorted, "Come on, we had breakdowns at worse locations. Do you need me in there, I'd love to take a look down there." He nodded toward the drop-off that had been their companion for several miles.

Dean hesitated. Somehow the thought of Sam walking around out here didn't suit him. But it was time for some normalcy, right? "My God, what a Philistine you are, Sammy", he teased, sliding out of the car with a dramatic sigh. "Go and enjoy the glorious view, I'm good here."

Ignoring Sam's reply Dean rounded the car and made his way to the small shop. The whole place looked pretty abandoned, and for a tiny moment he was convinced that the thing was closed for good. He was fairly relieved when the shop door swung open and a small bell above him signaled his entrance.

It was quiet except for the monotonous hum of the fridges and the air conditioning. A tinny voice sputtered happily from somewhere behind the counter, obviously from a small radio or a television. Dean looked around, seeing no one.

There was a strange smell, sweet and artificial, an odor that should be found in an exclusive boutique or a cosmetics department, sure as hell not in some shabby gas station somewhere in the middle of Arizona.

"Lavender?" Dean mumbled when he recognized it. He tried to find the source, the original plant in a decorative flower pot or an air freshener of some kind, but there was none. Geez, if this was really meant to freshen the air he didn't want to know how it had smelled before, without fresh and flowery and all that.

There was something else in here that caused his hunter instincts to kick in. Something wasn't quite right with the whole lavender scent. It was strong, strong enough to cause acute headaches, but there was something else, a second odor, something the sweet lavender smell didn't manage to cover up completely. Dean couldn't put a finger on it.

"Hello?" he called, narrowing his eyes. "Anybody there?"

Nothing. The voice from whatever was placed behind the counter had made room for music, some old country song that yodeled it's way through the stuffy air.

Slowly Dean reached for his gun. The hair on the back of his neck started to rise. He took one, then another step towards the counter, gun drawn, aiming with two hands. The orchestra of smells became almost unbearable. Lavender. And what the hell else?

Something small appeared in front of Dean's face, followed by a second and a third, so many he let go of his weapon with one hand to wave them away.

Flies.

He could hear them now, the closer he came to the counter, the louder they got, buzzing along with the music.

What the...

Dean froze, gripping his gun tight. He recognized that second smell now, damnit, how the hell could he have missed it. He of all people should know that odor.

It had been the last smell reaching his nose before he had died all those months ago.

It was metallic. Coppery.

It was blood.

And it seemed to be a lot.

Dean contemplated his options. One, this could have been an off-the-shelf robbery. Judging by the stench and the amount of flies it had happened a few hours ago. They could snatch everything they might need from the racks, could see if there were some tools in the garage behind the shop to fix the Impala and then get the hell out of dodge.

Two, it was an off-the-shelf robbery and Dean could just retreat, step out of the shop, call the cops and they could get the hell out of dodge. With a swiss-cheese-trunk. But with the moral certainty to be an upstanding citizen.

Three. This wasn't coincidence and they had walked right into a trap.

Dean's head jerked around. With the gun still aimed at the counter he took a step closer to the window, trying to find Sam out there.

Sam was there, alright. Hands in his pockets, strolling along the road and enjoying the view.

Exhaling forcefully, Dean swallowed and shook his head. Get a grip, dude. You're getting paranoid. There might be a few people after the little geek, but not everybody everywhere. Maybe this was really just a stupid coincidence. He adjusted his grip on the gun and moved forward, craning his neck to look behind the counter.

The next moment he silently cursed himself for his curiosity.

Again, he had to let go of the gun to cover his mouth with his left, the overpowering scent of blood, ongoing decay and urine slamming against him like a giant wave. On the floor, between pulled down goods scattered all around him in a pol of dark red liquid lay a man, his chest perforated by five or six bullets.

The most disturbing sight however was the blanket of purple tree-shaped air fresheners the corpse was covered with. There had to be about twenty or thirty of the little things, strewn over the dead body like chocolate sprinkles on a cake.

"Aw. That's just...gross", Dean exclaimed, lowering his weapon. "I hope you've been dead before the final topping, dude."

"He was."

Whirling around, Dean yanked the gun up again, shock and a slight loss of balance rattling him, causing his aim to waver for a second. In the shadows of a dark corner he saw a row of pearly-whites flash up to a broad grin while the black depths of a gun barrel sneered at him.

"I'm no barbarian, you know."

The familiar timbre caused Dean's blood to boil. "You", he growled, fighting the urge to take a step back.

So it had been a trap. Robbery his ass.

"Yeah, me." Kane strolled out of the corner as if he was going for a walk, tilting his head. "Surprised, Dean-o?"

Now it was Dean's turn to smile. "Na. Figured you were like a mold. No matter what, there's no chance to get rid of you."

Kane chuckled. "Back to your old self, I see. Seems like Sammy's little secret didn't niggle you as much as I thought. Or hoped." He raised his eyebrows. "Or it's just your typical art of suppression?"

"Shut up."

"Did I hit a nerve, Dean? Methinks thou dost protest too much..."

"Give me one good reason to let you walk out of here unharmed."

"Hm, let me think about that...oh, yes, how about I tell you about the second gun trained on Sam as we speak?" He finished his sentence with another dirty grin.

The broad hint hit Dean like a steam train. He should have listened to his gut feeling. Crap. "You son of a..."

"Yeah, I know. He would have a nice view while dying, at least. Now, put your weapon on the counter, then step away from it." Kane jerked his gun. "Please."

For a second, Dean felt like a deer caught in the headlights. If he wouldn't do what that dick wanted, they were dead. If he did, they were probably dead as well. Or maybe he would be dead in a few moments and Sam would be caught in that sickos claws again. There had to be a way out of this. What if Kane was bluffing? What if there wasn't a second gun? How many men did Kane have with him?

"What, you're gonna shoot me again? Don't you get tired of killing me all the time?" he asked sarcastically, trying to put as much nonchalance into his voice as possible. _Think, Dean, think._

"No. It's fun, every time", came the surprisingly icy reply. "Now, Dean."

Hesitating one more second Dean lowered the gun, splaying out his fingers in the process in a gesture of defiant surrender. He clicked the safety in and did as he was told, putting the gun slowly on the counter. A small army of flies flew up from the bloodied wooden surface, their feast disrupted, their angry buzzing momentarily standing out from the monotonous hum of their allies.

"What's it with the lavender decoration?" Dean asked, remembering the corpse on the other side of the counter, "The air in here not stuffy enough for you?"

"He began to stink", Kane spat, grimacing. "Who would've known you two would need so long to arrive here?"

Dean clenched his jaw. He felt sick all of a sudden. "So you didn't really bolt, huh? You knew we'd stop here, because it was you who sabotaged my car."

"Yep. And I'm proud of myself, I really am. Guess what would've happened if the hole in your precious car's tank were too big or not big enough? You either wouldn't have made it to me. Or you would've driven by. I think I'm a genius."

"Why the huge efforts? Cutting the brakes would've been easier."

"And risk Sammy?"

The mention of his brother's name pushed a wave of rage through the older Winchester. "You won't get him, ya hear? I won't..."

A quick movement of Kane's eyes stopped Dean short, his opponents gaze, which had been glued to his from the moment Kane had stepped from the shadows, was now directed at something past Dean, something outside.

"Dean!"

Sam's voice penetrated the humming of the flies and the once again babbling radio despite coming from outside. Not only the fact that his little brother had started to look for him, but also that he was close, far too close, sent Dean's mind reeling. He wanted to turn around, wanted to see where Sam was, warn him.

_Funky town. Don't come in, Sammy. Go. Run_

Turning his head as far as he could without actually turning around, Dean tried to locate him. He had no clue where that second gun was, if there was one. Or how Kane would contact the person aiming with that second gun at his baby brother's head. They were probably being watched. One false move and Sam was toast.

"Huh", Kane still looked past Dean, watching his bother, "speak of the devil and the devil shows up. Let's go outside and say 'Hi', shall we."

* * *

><p>Sam narrowed his eyes, trying to see through the shop windows, which turned out to be a ridiculous task. He doubted that he could see through those blind things even with his nose pressed against the panes like a child outside a candy store. Shaking his head, he rounded the gas pumps, approaching the entrance of the little shop. How long could it take to ask for service? The magazine rack was probably in a better shape than the windows and Dean had been held up by the annual 'Busted Asian Beauties' year book.<p>

"Dean!" he called again, and he couldn't help but feel slightly uneasy by the eery silence of the place. He looked around once more, his gaze landing on the Impala. Maybe he should get a gun from the trunk. Dean would rip his head off if he knew he was wandering around unarmed. Especially with some batshit crazy hunter on the run.

Movement behind the almost opaque surface caught Sam's attention. Then the shop door swung open, a loud and roaring noise in the peaceful soundlessness of the desert.

"Dude, there you are", Sam greeted his brother when he saw him step out, "have you been walking to Detroit to get the spare parts or what?" Sam's cheerful smile froze when he met Dean's gaze.

Something was wrong. Very wrong.

His brother's expression was a mixture of rage and bewilderment, the looks he normally spared for situations he was angry at himself for making a mistake or for not seeing things coming. And somehow Sam didn't believe it had anything to do with the Impala or them being stuck here.

He raised his eyebrows, "What..."

The question died on his lips when he saw the reason of Dean's countenance. A few steps behind him, gun drawn and pointing at his older brother's back was Kane. A chill ran down Sam's spine. His hands twitched in attempt to reach for a weapon before he remembered that he didn't carry any.

Well, crap.

"It's a small world", Kane piped, presenting his toothy, arrogant grin, "hello, Sam."

Balling his hands to fists Sam gritted his teeth. Too many coincidences. They had walked right into a trap. "So it had been your mitts on our car", he spat, the sight of the barrel being pressed into Dean's back spurring on his fury.

Kane's smile grew even more. "My, aren't you two a clever twosome. Holmes and Watson, so to say."

Sam straightened to his full height. He cast a determined glance at Dean. It had been their way to solve problems and situations like this many a time. One look, a silent agreement, an unvoiced but well-conceived plan.

_He's alone. One guy. We can cope with him, we can overpower him._

But Sam's ambitions choked off when Dean shook his head almost unnoticeable. A slight frown flew over the younger man's face, the question unspoken.

He got his answer from Kane. "Nice try, Sammy. See, Dean knows something you don't, that's why he isn't fighting me." He jerked his head. "Now move. Towards that beautiful edge over there. Let's enjoy the magnificent view. And no tricks, otherwise one of you will live on as an only child."

Sam let out an angry snort and defiantly raised placating hands before he turned and started to walk. He knew better than to underestimate Kane. And the fact that the lunatic was herding Dean and him towards a profound abyss didn't do much to ease his nerves.

"Don't you have somewhere to be?" Sam heard his brother ask while they walked side by side, his tone disgruntled and snappy, "can't believe we're so important that you have to be stuck to our asses like candy."

"Actually no, there are enough hunters out there doing all the dirty work, believing in the cause, thinking they could make this a much more beautiful world by killing all those creatures."

Sam could feel the hot gravel beneath his feet eating itself through the soles of his boots. When they left the protecting shadow of the gas station, the heat pressed down onto his head and face relentlessly. He squinted against the bright sunlight, looking down the road when they crossed it in the hope to see a car approach.

There was none. They were alone.

"And here's me thinking you wanna do the same, silly me", Dean went on. Sam cast a glance over to him, noticing his brother's glistening forehead.

"Oh, I do", Kane replied, seeming to enjoy the verbal exchange between him and Dean, "just not by using the usual atavistic ways."

Dean snorted, "Sorry to bear bad news, but the lightsaber is still science fiction."

Kane let out an eery sigh. "It's so sweet how you try to dodge the reason you two are here, Dean." His tone had softened, a melancholy tone that was so unfamiliar it was downright creepy, and then he stopped walking. They were about five yards away from the edge. "You can stop here, Sam."

Doing as he was told, Sam came to a halt and looked over his shoulder, trying to see Kane without fully turning around. Dean had stopped as well and their eyes met for a second. He was nervous and tense, a muscle in his jaw pulsating. This was an awful reminder of the scene that had started all this. The heat. The desert. Guns trained on them. And it didn't look as if it would end any better.

"Not you, Dean. You can march right on."

Alarmed, Sam whirled around, forgetting Kane's gun or a possible reaction to a quick unexpected movement. "What?"

"Don't worry, Sammy, only to the edge", their opponent interrupted him wearing a soothing expression, "He won't have to jump, I promise."

"You've seen way too many pirate movies", Dean interjected in a low growl, drawing Kane's attention back to him and started to walk again, albeit slow and careful.

"Don't", Sam's panic spiked, wide eyes darting from Dean's position to the abyss. This was a fucking dèjà vu. "Dean, don't you walk up there, we both know what he's going to do..."

"Oh yeah", came Dean's reply, "he's going to torture us with his philosophy of power over dark creatures and blend us with his perfect dental ridge, nothing new."

Sam's shoulders sagged. What the hell was Dean thinking? This was so not the time for cheeky remarks or deliberate provocation or his brother's famous 'take it easy'. He shot Kane a dirty look when the older man chuckled skittishly, enjoying the situation a tad too much. When Sam looked back to Dean, his heart almost stopped.

His brother had come to a halt, stood now only a few inches away from the edge. Sam was grateful for the calm. It was beyond doubt that one gust of wind would have been enough to drag Dean over the cliff without difficulties.

"Don't move", Sam called out to him, holding up his hands, one million scenarios chasing through his mind, "careful."

The glare Dean shot to him said 'No kidding!' in big bold letters.

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><p><em>To be continued...<em>


	15. Chapter 15

_Let's try this again.  
><em>

_Sorry sorry sorry for the delay... I spent four days in the boonies without internet! Happy easter holidays everybody, hope you found all your eggs?_

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><p><strong>Chapter 15<strong>

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><p>"Okay gentlemen", Kane spoke up, "now that we're so nicely reunited, how about we go on were we have been interrupted the last time." He raised his free hand and made a throwing motion while his aiming right didn't even tremble.<p>

Right now Dean wasn't sure what was causing him more discomfort. The gun he was currently looking at, the yawning void behind him or the nervous, incalculable brother standing, thank god, several yards away from him with a second weapon aimed at his tousled head.

Carefully glancing over his shoulder Dean swallowed, briefly closing his eyes and looking ahead again. The edge of the cliff he was currently standing on was the peak of a steep face. He remembered that there was a river or some kind of creek down there, making the valley below one of the more fertile places in this inhospitable place. Which pretty much didn't matter for him, though. Dropping down here meant turning to confetti the second he'd impact.

This was a bad joke. Crude candid camera. How was it even possible that not a single car passed by? This was the scenic route, the most friggin' beautiful place to have a fucking breakdown, right? Someone should sue the commercial agency for this.

Glaring towards the big sign beside the gas station that looked so far away from where he stood Dean noticed a silhouette slipping out from behind a rusty air tank. His nascent hope that it might have been someone coming for help was crushed in seconds when he recognized the person.

"This gets better and better", Dean snarled, keeping himself from throwing his arms up in frustration and shaking his head instead. Keeping his balance right now was essential for survival.

Kane's smirk grew. He didn't move, didn't have to turn around to see who was coming. At Sam's questioning look Dean nodded his chin at the approaching figure. "Your sniper has crawled from his hideout. Surprise, it's an old acquaintance." Dean didn't need to see Sam's face to interpret his reaction. The sagging shoulder's, in this case equivalent to a cat arching it's back and raising it's fur, was enough. Luckily, Sam held his ground, even if he probably would've wanted to break a nose right now.

Concentrating his attention back on the new arrival, Dean couldn't suppress a snort when the kid slowed down before crossing the road to check both sides for oncoming traffic. He carried a big but elegant sniper rifle, still more or less aiming it at Sam, but he became visibly more insecure the closer he came.

"If I had known that it was you hiding back there aiming at my brother's head I would've told him to get the guns from our trunk without any ruffle or excitement and tie his shoes in between", Dean scoffed, partly amused, partly angry.

The boy shot him a 'Very funny' look and came to a halt a few feet away from Sam, adjusting his grip on the weapon. It took Dean only seconds to recognize the rifle, even if he hadn't seen the thing for ages. It was theirs, rarely used though, but it was theirs. Dean had almost forgotten about the thing, had stuffed it into the trunk and buried deep down beneath the other weapons after he had almost shot himself with it thanks to that Ansem-kid. He hadn't noticed that it was still missing after they had gotten their armory back when Kane had been arrested.

Dean gritted his teeth and was about to mumble a curse towards their opponents when Sam started to talk.

"I guess I was wrong about you", he said, addressing Stevie, "I thought you were sorry about what you did to Dean. Yet you're here, letting this happen. Again."

Sam's words triggered a reaction so inappropriate to the scene it was almost funny. Stevie started to chew on his lips, sweaty fingers wriggling along the trigger.

"Sam...", Dean warned, confused about his brother's bad timing for psychological sessions. He shot a quick nervous look at Kane to figure out what he might think of this. But the older man's face was hard to read, his mouth twitching to something resembling a smirk.

"Back in the cabin, when you thought you'd killed my brother, you said you'd ruined your life", Sam went on, puppy-dog-eyes in place, "look around you, man, nothing happened. We're all alive, you can get out of this having a clean slate." Dean frowned. Whatever had happened between Stevie and Sam, whatever conversation had taken place, it was enough to spark some hope in his brother's mind and heart, enough to make him think he could appeal to Stevie's better nature.

A snort drew everyone's attention back to Kane. "Nice try, Sam", he chuckled, "but if you'd only knew what this boy here is capable of, you wouldn't try to tell him what a babe in the woods he is, trust me."

"That's not true", Stevie exclaimed with a quivering voice and jumpy movements that let Dean's stomach drop considering the deadly piece of iron in those nervous hands, "I'm not...I've never..." Stevie ceased speaking and blinked, pulling the rifle he had involuntarily lowered up again. He looked like a kicked little dog. Dean felt almost sorry for him.

"Are we done?" Kane asked, and this time there were traces of impatience in his tone. Stevie nodded jerkily, lips pressed together to a thin line. "Good. Okay then, I guess we're back on square one here." He turned his attention back to the Winchesters. "I still want to learn everything about your little trick, Sam. And I still don't want your brother here to intervene. During my hours behind bars I tried to figure out a way to keep you and don't harm Dean, keep him on a leash or something. But I couldn't come up with a satisfying solution, so I guess I'm going to make this short because honestly, my arm's getting heavy and it's hot and all that..."

A shiver ran down Dean's spine, the damn feeling of déjà vu kicking his butt full force. He heard Sam gasp, saw him move, expected an avalanche of protests or begging tumbling from his mouth.

He didn't expect the voice he heard.

"No."

With the single word Stevie swung the sniper rifle from Sam to Kane, adjusting his grip on the heavy weapon once again. It was the first time Dean saw something like surprise on Kane's face. This definitely hadn't been planned. Dean met Sam's gaze which had switched from shock to puzzlement and was now morphing into an expression of euphoria and eagerness. He didn't make a move, though, the fact that Kane was still pointing his gun at Dean holding him back.

"Stephen", Kane laughed in mock consternation, raising his eyebrows, "an ambush. Who would've thought it? I'm impressed."

"Put the weapon down", Stevie commanded. The order would've been threatening if his voice would've been steady and an a little louder. But the poor kid had been intimidated enough right from the start and now, obviously appalled by his own actions, he had trouble keeping his tone even and the tremors out.

Dean licked his lips, racking his brain for a way to take advantage of the situation. But he had learned not to underestimate Kane. With the gun still aimed at his chest and a hyper-nervous armed boy carrying a shaking rifle he wasn't sure if any of the ideas popping up in his mind were safe enough.

"Ah, ah, ah", Kane chastised, "rule number one – never leave your enemy unattended. If I do what you want me to do and I put my weapon down, do you know what Dean and Sam here will do to me? Or to you? Haven't you listened to me all those years?"

"I've listened enough", the kid spat, "all my life, since I can think I've listened to you. I did things I've never wanted to do..."

"Why did you do it then?" Kane asked smugly, "You've been a free man. You still are. I've never forced you to anything."

Dean was torn between rolling his eyes and listening more closely, the tragedy starting to play out in front of them jarring him.

"You've been the only one I had, I was looking up to you. I thought whatever you did was right. When I watched you steal and kill and burn down houses I thought it was the right thing!"

"Well, for me it was. It's my job. It's our job. We hunt. And we kill."

Now it was Dean's turn to snort. "Yeah, right..."

"I was supposed to be your job", Stevie yelled, "when my parents died it was me you should have taken care of, not some hunting business. You dragged me into this, you denied me a proper education, I could have gone to a college!"

Dean swallowed, Stevie's words hitting home. He cast a glance to Sam who somehow looked like Dean felt right now.

"I don't want this anymore. And I want you to let them go." Stevie took a deep breath, seeming to compose himself. He looked straight at Dean now, his eyes glistening. "Dean, step away from that edge."

Raising his eyebrows, the older Winchester blinked at Stevie. "Uhm..." He nodded towards Kane. "Gun? Upper hand?"

"You're overstepping a line here, Stephen", Kane hissed, now visibly pissed.

"I don't care. Put the gun down. I won't say it again."

It was time to do something.

Ignoring the little red flags and the 'You're crazy!' calls from his brain, Dean ducked low and was about to lunge forward, using the element of surprise his sudden movement caused. Kane had aimed at his chest, so even if he'd shoot now, Dean's crouch was low enough to dodge the bullet. And neither he nor Sam would allow him to aim again.

Sure enough the shot rang out. But the surprise was on Dean's side when he not only heard but felt it.

Momentarily stunned by the searing pain in his shoulder, he scrunched his eyes shut and tried to swallow the grunt that threatened to tumble from his lips. A ridiculous train of thoughts like _Why does it always have to be my friggin' shoulder?_ and _'What is it with people shooting at me all the time?'_ popped up in his mind when he heard Sam's voice over the rushing in his ears and a second shot ring out.

_God, no!_

"Sammy...?"

Blinded by agony Dean blinked and tried to make out his brother in the raging blur that seemed to engulf him when he felt himself falling. Yanking his arms up he reached out to stop his forward momentum.

It was then he realized he wasn't falling forward.

* * *

><p>When Dean jerked almost simultaneously with the angry crack of the gunshot, Sam's eyes widened in terror and disbelief.<p>

_God, no!_

He had been sure it would work. The way Dean had dropped down so swiftly, had ducked his head like a tortoise to avoid being hit by a possible bullet, Sam had been about to move forward, knowing full well that it was now or never – with Kane being only inches away from losing his temper, a ticking time bomb, distracted and thrown for a loop by Stevie's obviously unexpected mutiny.

Time seemed to stand still. The sound of the shot that had cut through the silence of the desert was carried away and swallowed by sand and cliffs. Sam couldn't move, his limbs not obeying, his brain still denying what he had just witnessed, the hope that Kane had missed still existent. He watched Dean's face scrunch up, saw him sway, knees buckling. A choked grunt disrupted his brother's soft gasps.

"Dean!"

The moment Sam was about to rush to his ailing brother's side Kane whirled around – a fast and vigorous turn, still aiming, still determined. When another shot rang out, Sam flinched, expecting the impact of a bullet, waiting for a wave of pain slam into him.

It was Stevie who screamed out, his lanky frame staggering briefly before it tilted to the side like a falling tree.

Sam blinked at the boy squirming in the hot dust before he looked up to meet Kane's gaze. There weren't words the young Winchester had left for the other man, spitting in front of his boots would've been too much politeness and honor. But whatever Sam wanted to say or do, it was forcefully pushed into the background when he heard Dean rasp his name, fear and desperation lacing his voice.

"Sammy...?"

It was also the moment Sam realized Dean was tilting backwards.

"No!" Ignoring Kane and the gun and the writhing man on the ground Sam made a dart for his brother, praying he would reach him in time, praying he wouldn't stumble over whatever their Winchester luck would decide to throw in front of his feet. The whole scene played out in slow motion – Dean frowning as if he weren't aware what was happening, hands reached out to catch a fall that wasn't going into the expected direction. Sam calling out to him, willing his legs to make fucking bigger steps and his arms to lengthen, only for this moment.

When Sam was finally within his sibling's reach, he grasped at nothing.

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><p>What he could make out of Sam's expression and the way he was literally about to swoop down on him shook Dean from his stupor in seconds. The realization that the pairing 'tilting backwards' and 'bottomless pit behind' was unfavorable hit him hard enough to let him spring into action, even if his body was definitely not up for it.<p>

Sam was close, calling out, reaching out, but not able to close the gap between them in time. Overcoming the temptation to just close his eyes and let himself fall, Dean started to flail his arms, gritted his teeth against the agony the movement caused. He threw his good arm forward, praying it would be enough, praying Sam would be there.

He didn't know how long his plunge had lasted when he felt Sam's hand around his wrist, gripping him tight and catching his fall. Dean's fingers found his brother's forearm, too, and he clung to it like a lifeline because it friggin' was one. Like a small ship which has cast it's anchor at full speed Dean felt himself being tossed around, the momentum of his drop sending him straight into the steep face of the cliff where he impacted with a bone rattling force, his body slamming against the sun-warmed tor. The explosion of pain from all parts of his body caused him to scream out.

Something in Dean's mind told him to do something, that hanging around towel-style wouldn't help him, he needed to get up before Sam's and his strength would wane. But right now he couldn't bring himself to do anything else than breathe and ride out the shock waves of agony pulsating through him.

"Dean? Hey!"

Sam's voice was so close. Two arm's length away, actually. Yet they could have been on two different continents, talking over the phone with him dangling from his brother's arm and a few miles between his feet and the ground beneath.

"Answer me! Dean!"

He tried, he really did, but there was not enough air in his lungs at the moment. Blinking against the sweat invading his vision, Dean tried not to look down. Instead he let his head fall backwards to search for Sam's face above him, a movement that came so naturally to him due to exhaustion. Everything was heavy. Everything was slow and blurry.

Sam's face was red and damp, his features scrunched up to a grimace. The veins along his right arm, Dean's lifeline, trembling and glistening with sweat, stood out from the violent effort of not letting go. His left alternated between reaching out to Dean and securing his own body on the cliff's edge by pushing against their combined weight.

"I need you to give me your hand, do you hear me?" he yelled louder than necessary, "Your other hand, Dean!"

Dean wanted to obey. He didn't want to be here in this fucked-up situation one second longer. But when he was about to reach up the feeling of a glowing iron bar being pierced through his shoulder put an end to the task. Inhaling sharply he fought against the sudden nausea, the excruciating pain threatening to kick him right into oblivion. He felt his vice-like grip on Sam's wrist slacken and his whole body drop almost an inch before five fingers dug deeply into his hand, Sam's desperate outcry matching his renewed efforts to hold on.

Pulling the throbbing limb as close to him as possible, Dean groaned, trying to stay conscious with all his might.

"S...sorry", he hissed, squeezing his eyes shut, "can't move the damn thing..."

"Then try it, fuck, Dean I can't..." The force behind the words caused Dean to flinch. Sam was losing it, he could hear that. Reaching out again, partly smacking the rock with the flat of his hand in frustration and sheer despair, his tone switched from furious to beseeching, "I can't pull you up, man. I need your other hand! Please!"

Dean swallowed heavily, leaning his forehead against his arm that started to ache from being used as a taut line for minutes now. Their link had weakened, with both of them sweating bullets it was only a matter of time they wouldn't be able to hold on to each other any longer. He inspected the rock face with tired eyes, tried to find a ledge or anything where he could hold onto, could set a foot on to support at least a bit of his own weight. There was nothing except for a few insolent roots and plants wriggling their way out of the porous rock, laughing at him.

"Sammy..."

"Dean, please!" Sam begged, his voice strained and out of breath, "Come on, you're stubborn as a mule, I know that, I live with that since the day I was born, show me some of it, now!"

Looking up Dean had to squint against the sun that seemed to hide right behind Sam's mop. And then it hit him. Kane was still up there, right? And Stevie? What about that second shot he had heard? Why didn't Kane interfere? Meant that Stevie had finally hit bull's eye and that son of a bitch was gone?

A pained grunt from Sam pulled him from his musings. His brother was renewing his efforts to stay on the edge, trying to push himself further back again. In vain.

This wasn't working. If Sam held on any longer, they would both go down.

"I'm too heavy", Dean stated breathless, not sure if Sam could hear him over his gasps and swearing.

"Yeah, gotta...gotta lay off the burgers, dude..." came the reply, but the playful tone was lost in translation. Sam was on the verge of tears, frustration over his inability to pull his sibling up flashing to panic. And he probably knew was Dean was trying to imply.

"You know what they say...'bout me...all muscle, no brain?"

"Shut up, I don't want to hear that!"

A metallic smell drew Dean's attention to his shoulder, a red and hurting mess. Blood was pumping freely from his flesh and he felt the effects more and more. He started to freeze and shiver despite the heat. It was difficult to keep the eyes open.

Looking up again, Dean tried his best 'big brother's always right' expression, failing miserably. "You have to let go, Sam", he croaked.

"The hell I will...gimme your other hand."

"I drag you down, you're going to die with me..."

"I think I'll take the risk!"

"Let go, Sam."

"No."

Of course Sam wouldn't let go. What Dean demanded was impossible and downright mean. If tables were turned, Dean would never grant his little brother such a wish.

That's why he would have to take matters into his hands.

Slowly, ignoring his heart beating unbearably loud in his ears, Dean loosened his grip on Sam's hand.

"No!" Sam roared, terror etching his features, "don't you dare, Dean! No!"

"I won't pull you down with me..." Dean said, surprised over the tone of his voice, calm, leaving no room for discussions, even if he didn't feel like it at all. Geez, he was so done.

"Don't you do this to me", Sam was begging again, his fingernails digging painfully into Dean's hand, "I can pull you up, just hold on to me! Dean!"

Looking up into Sammy's glistening eyes almost broke Dean's heart. He knew he was an ass doing this. Sam would never forgive him.

But it didn't matter, right?

He felt his hand slip from Sam's iron grip until only their fingers were left entangled.

"Dean!"

He had died way too often during the last months. He was probably long overdue, regarding all those chances he had had to kick the bucket. The adamant pounding in his ears was just the impatient tap of his reaper's foot.

He mouthed a last 'Sorry' over Sam's raving and angry sobs until gravity finally tore them apart.

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><p><em>To be continued...<em>


	16. Chapter 16

_My friends, I have a problem. I'm currently working on chapter 17. Yes, still working. Which means, I won't be able to post next Sunday (insert big 'Awwwwww' here). _  
><em>But I'm going to hurry, okay, so the second it's ready and betaed and all that stuff it's online, okay?<em>

_Until then, have fun with this one:_ (and a HUUUUUGE thank you for MeAzrael for reading and correcting this with lightning speed!)

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><p><strong>Chapter 16<strong>

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><p>Their fragile connection broke like an exhausted rope. For a moment time stood perfectly still and Dean was levitating in the air. For a moment Sam wanted to bark out a hysteric laughter.<p>

And then he had to watch his brother drop, Dean's huge, glassy and apologizing eyes widening when gravity took hold of him, pulling him down. Dean didn't flail, didn't struggle, it was an oddly peaceful sight, mesmerizing and quiet except for Sam's own screams, cutting through the heated air, accompanying Dean's silent fall.

That came to an abrupt halt on a narrow piece of rock pointing from the cliff – ledge not bigger than a diving board, shrouded in the shadows, almost invisible from Sam's position.

Den landed on the tiny rock shelter with a sickening thud, where he remained motionless, lying on his stomach with one arm dangling dangerously from the edge.

"Christ", Sam whispered, running a trembling hand through his hair, processing what had just happened. Quickly he tried to estimate the distance Dean had dropped and the severity of his brother's impact. He could have survived this, right? Maybe in bits and pieces, but alive.

That was everything that mattered. Sam could deal with everything as long Dean was alive.

The sound of gravel beneath heavy shoes drew Sam's attention back to the scene up here and he scrambled to his feet in time to end face to face with Kane. The older man cast a curious glance down into the abyss and shrugged. "Don't think he survived that. And if he did, I'm sure most of his bones are a jigsaw by now." He once again raised the gun he had held loosely by his side. "Well, this was fun. In case you wondered why I didn't interfere, it was just so damn heartbreaking to watch you two. Best drama ever. Now, step away from that edge, will ya? Don't want to pick your pieces up from down there as well."

Sam didn't know if it was imprudence, facileness or plain stupidity. Wether Kane thought Sam was on his side or too shocked and confused to act. In this very moment Sam couldn't care less. It was the first mistake Kane had made. And it would be his last.

With a deep, throaty growl Sam lashed out, catching the gun-holding hand. In one fluid motion he yanked his knee up and slammed Kane's wrist onto it, one, two, three times before his opponent let go of the weapon with a surprised outcry.

The left hook he swung into Kane's face was satisfying and painful at the same time, the finger Kane had broken days ago raising a hue and cry, but Sam didn't care. Gripping the collar of Kane's jacket, he let rage and anger fuel him, everything that had seethed in him since all this had begun. Like a boxer he stroke blow after blow upon his adversary, every hit accentuated by a hate-filled grunt.

The moment Sam felt his strength waning he knew he had been the one who had made the mistake. Before he could react, Kane gripped his flying fist, literally picked it from the air and yanked it down so hard Sam heard something in his joint crack. He had no time to wait for a possible ache in his shoulder when Kane threw his head forward with a growl, smashing his forehead into Sam's face with full force.

For mere seconds there were only stars filling his vision and a shrill, sustained tone in his head. Sam stumbled and went down hard onto his knees before he tilted ungracefully onto his butt. His nose and cheekbone were throbbing in sync while a steady little flow of blood found its way over his lips and chin.

"Payback's a bitch", Kane panted, wiping a remarkable amount of the red liquid from his own face. "You're not gonna bury the hatchet, will ya?"

With a roar Sam kicked out, swiping Kane from his legs. The older man slammed onto the ground, landing on his back in a cloud of dust. Not wasting any second Sam jumped on him, straddling the man. "You're not gonna leave me alone, will ya?" he spat, closing his fingers around Kane's sweaty throat and squeezed, not hesitating once. He had long started to ignore the rule of not killing humans, and even if he hadn't, he'd gladly make an exception for this filthy pig.

With almost frightening satisfaction Sam watched Kane grit his teeth while his face reddened, his calloused hands gripping Sam's wrists trying to dislodge his hands.

But once again Kane managed to squirm himself out of the Winchester's hold by slamming his elbow against the side of Sam's face. The hit was neither hard nor well-aimed, but it was enough to catch Sam off guard. As his head was thrown sideways, his whole body followed suit and in the blink of an eye the two men had switched positions, Sam being the one on the ground with Kane's paws around his throat.

The older man didn't hesitate, either.

Sam felt Kane's fingers dig deep into tender flesh and breathing became almost impossible in an instant. He struggled and bucked, pulling all his strength together to free himself, but his opponent pressed him down into the dust and gravel, wild eyes looking down on him, the ugly, smug grin in place.

"Guess I can't tame you", Kane panted, piling the pressure on Sam's throat, "and if I can't have you I have to kill you, it's as simple as that."

Black dots started to appear before Sam's eyes, doing their little dance. The throbbing in his fingers became unbearable, his efforts to loosen Kane's grip taking its toll on the broken bones. Geez, he needed fucking air!

"I'm sorry about that, really, it's a shame. We could've ruled the supernatural world. Or rather, underworld."

Kane's voice faded out, as if someone was turning the volume down. His words were like cutlery tumbling into a brass barrel, scratching and clanking against the metal. Everything went blurry and bright.

"This is a really girly thing to say, Sam, but: if I can't have you, no one will."

The thundering crack cutting through the slowly devouring silence put everything to a halt. Sam's fading from the here and now, the pressure on his throat, the awful lack of oxygen. And, thankfully, Kane's sickening monologue.

Greedily Sam drank in precious air between coughs and gasps, blinking wildly, the dancing dots slowly dissolving into a bright blue mass that turned out to be the sky above him. Somewhere in his head he heard a voice, far away, maybe a few yards. He couldn't make out what the person was calling, but it didn't sound friendly.

With advancing awareness Sam felt the heavy weight on his tights again. It took him a few seconds to remember what it was. Or who. He started to struggle in unison with the yelling voice somewhere behind him increasing it's volume and urgency. With his eyes slightly unfocused he jerked up, a little bit too fast for his dazzled brain.

Kane was still straddling him, the annoying grin plastered on his face. His eyes were glassy and slightly rolling around in their sockets, drool started to crawl from his chapped lips. His upper body was swaying dangerously like a small ship on rough sea. A large red stain evolved from a hole in his chest, blood creeping from the wound with frightening speed.

"I said hands up where I can see them!"

Sam flinched at the words, but recognized the voice instantly. He was about to look around but decided that this could wait until that asshole was off of him. "How is it...that you're still grinning?" Sam rasped, frowning and shaking his head, still trying to gather some strength to cast his adversary off.

"Because...I'm not...done...yet", came the whispered answer, and with a capacity of reaction Sam would've never thought a dying man was capable of Kane pulled a knife from his waistband.

Sam's strength returned with vengeance. Jerking his head back to avoid being stabbed in the face and losing an eye he bucked his legs again while he broke the force of Kane's blow with his forearm, a move so instinctive and practiced it overpowered Kane's weakening attack easily. With the older man trying to stand up on wobbly feet, Sam threw himself forward, shoving his opponent away from him as forcefully as he could.

The last thing Sam saw were Kane's widened eyes, his mouth hanging open in astonishment when he literally flew backwards, his ailing body no match for Sam anymore. Then he was gone, his disappearance accompanied by an angry scream.

* * *

><p>Sam didn't move. He welcomed the silence, the air he breathed in and out even if it was painful, his throat sore and protesting. The sunlight on his drenched face was both annoying and comfortable. He relished the short moment of numbness until he heard his name being called and the events of the last hours caught up with him.<p>

"Sam?"

Not bothering to get up on his feet Sam scrambled back to the edge, dropping onto his stomach like he had those minutes ago when he had failed to hold onto his brother. Had it been minutes? Or hours? It sure as hell felt like days.

Dean hadn't so much as twitched from what he could see. His brother still lay on his belly, the one arm hanging loosely from the ledge that had saved him.

"DEAN!" Sam hollered, his sibling's name reverberating from the cliffs around them. "DEAN! CAN YOU HEAR ME?"

Sam's eyes wandered to the bottom of the cliff and along the valley until he found what he was looking for. The ridiculous apprehension that Kane's corpse might be gone, vanished like in a damn movie crossed his mind. But the remains of the other hunter that had made their last days a living hell were right where they should be, a giant pool of blood and a mess of shattered bones and ragged flesh, draped by the man's clothing. There had been no ledge, no false bottom, no ace up his sleeve this time.

Behind Sam Annie was commanding into her cell phone, all professional, all police business. He didn't know how she had known that they were in trouble out here, and how the heck she had found them, but Sam was once again glad that she had been in the right spot at the right time. When the words 'ambulance' and 'life threatening condition' fell, Sam sat up and turned around to a pitiful sight.

Stevie lay on his back, his eyes staring into the sky while his whole body shook. His breath came in short gasps, every push of air accentuated by a pained, whimpering moan. His upper body was drenched in blood, his hair stuck to his sweaty face. Annie was right in the middle of it, phone clamped between her ear and shoulder while trying to staunch the steady flow of blood with her bare hands.

"He's not going to make it", she hissed towards Sam when she noticed his approach, "did Kane do this?"

Sam just nodded, running a hand through his hair. He looked around, searching for tools, a plan, an idea what to do next.

"Sam? You okay? Where's Dean? Why did you call out for him?" She darted huge eyes from her patient's messed up body up to Sam, demanding answers. Her words carried a slightly desperate undertone.

"I'm good", Sam replied, kneeling down briefly beside the ailing boy. "Hey, Stevie. You need to hold on, okay? Help's on its way." The young man tried to smile, but it lasted only milliseconds before his face scrunched up to a grimace of agony.

The Winchester pressed his lips together. Under normal circumstances he'd feel like an ass for not helping to take care of the dying kid on the ground. But right now his priorities lay elsewhere. "Annie, I need a rope or something, do you have one in your car?"

Annie paused her administrations on the wound and met his gaze. "Where is he?" she asked concerned. Then she looked past him and he could literally see how she put two and two together. She paled.

"Sam..."

"The rope, Annie. Do you have one?" Sam urged, not in the mood for time-devouring explanations and discussions.

Annie blinked. She was visibly upset, her voice was wavering, but she tried not to lose her composure. "Get the car here, it has a winch. Key's in the lock."

Sam got to his feet without an answer, his injured hand close to his chest. He had to switch to hunter mode, now. No pain. No distraction. And above all, no panic. Dean was okay. Period.

Annie's police truck stood only a few yards away, blue lights switched on. The brief thought of possible back-up was quickly pushed aside by the joy of the fact that Annie had a winch mounted to her truck. Sam quickly climbed inside and groaned when he was greeted with the pent-up heat inside the car.

Steering the big vehicle as close to the edge as he dared, Sam noticed that Annie had left her position at Stevie's side and was kneeling at the edge, looking down, the back of one hand that wasn't covered in drying blood covering her mouth.

Jumping from the truck Sam rounded it, immediately starting to work on the winch. "I need your help", he said hastily, frustration cursing through him when he couldn't wrap his head around the handling of the thing immediately.

"What are you going to do?" Annie asked, her tone alarmingly calm and resigned. When she appeared beside him he saw that she was crying.

"I'm going down there. I need you to handle this winch from up here for me. What about back-up? That ambulance you've called? Do they send a helicopter?"

"They're on their way. I'm not sure about the heli, though..."

"Call them back, tell them we need one here. We need to get Dean to the nearest hospital, he's been shot and I don't know how bad he's hurt from the fall..."

"How do you know he's still alive?"

Sam stopped his purposeful movements, clenching his jaw. His frustration, his anger, the rush urging him, it all froze to a lump in his throat. He stroked the wound up steel rope, ignoring the sting when a wayward wire braid cut into his hand.

_Dean's in Hell, right where we want him. We've got everything exactly the way we want it._

_Dean's gone, Sammy. Salted and burned. A real hunter's burial, minus the pyre._

He swallowed, Annie's pain devolving upon him. "Because I can't handle it if he's gone", he answered hoarsely and looked at her.

Like watching a reflection in a mirror, Sam recognized the same emotions on Annie's face, the same grief, the same denial. She loved Dean. She cared for him. And she would do everything within her power to help him.

She held his gaze for a second, her lips a thin line, and nodded. Then she pulled a pair of gloves from behind the winch and handed them to Sam. "Put a foot in the noose and hold on tight", she then said, patting the winch's engine, "I'll lower you as fast as I can risk it."

Grabbing the huge gloves and putting them on, Sam mouthed a 'Thank you' and took hold of the steel-coated noose. This would be a bitch with his injured fingers. When Annie started the winch engine he pulled at the rope, unwinding it. He sat down, his legs dangling from the edge, his right boot firmly stuck in the noose.

It wasn't as fast as he had hoped, but as soon as he pushed himself off the edge, his whole weight held by the noose and his hands clinging to the steel rope, speed wasn't important anymore. Using his injured hand to push himself off the rock face, he cast a glance down to Dean again. Although Sam had covered a small distance already, the ledge that had caught his brother was still several feet away.

"I'm coming, Dean", Sam whispered, more to himself, "On my way."

Squinting up again, Sam could see Annie's face peering over the edge, keeping him in sight. She was talking to her radio device instead of the cell phone, now that the police truck was there. He could only hope she was requesting the helicopter. No way would Sam be able to get Dean up there with this rope-thing.

Sam's descent lasted not longer then five minutes, but it felt like an eternity to him. He had to stop himself from jumping down the last few feet, but the space on the ledge was limited and the risk that he'd land on his injured sibling or even take a nose dive himself was just too high. Finally reaching the rock spur, Sam dropped down beside his brother's still form, almost tripping over the noose when he hastily tore at the rope to free himself from it.

Dean's face was turned to him, it was frighteningly pale. His freckles had already been intensifying their presence during the last days, thanks to the never-tiring sun out here, but now, with his skin being white as a sheet and an alarmingly amount of blood running from his ears, nose and mouth those freckles stood out like a stellar constellation in the nighttime sky.

"Dean", Sam whispered, reaching for his brother's throat with trembling hands. God, he was so still, Sam couldn't even tell if Dean was breathing at all, "Come on, man, don't you do this...not again." Closing his eyes, chanting a mantra of _Betherebetherebetherebethere_ Sam tried to feel Dean's pulse over his own hammering heart beat.

It was feeble and sluggish, almost not palpable, but it was there.

"Okay", Sam breathed, trying a smile that was as fragile as Dean looked right now. His hands hovered over his brother's lifeless body. He wanted to shake him, turn him onto his back to examine him properly, see where Dean was hurt, but he knew he couldn't risk it. "Dean? Hey...I'm going to check you over, okay? Feel free to protest." Sam watched his sibling's slack features, hoping for any sign that Dean heard him, noticed his presence. But there was nothing.

The younger Winchester didn't know which injuries caused him more uneasiness and worry – the ones he could see or those that lay hidden beneath intact skin and clothing.

Dean's shoulder was a mess. The bullet had gone straight through bones and tendons, leaving torn flesh and too much blood in its wake. Carefully tugging at his brother's shirt, Sam decided that the wound had stopped bleeding enough to go without him pressing his own dirty and sweat-soaked shirt onto it and risking an infection.

There was a minor gash at the side of Dean's head, looking superficial and harmless, but with all the blood from places that weren't supposed to bleed Sam knew better than to underestimate any head injuries, especially after a fall like this.

Trying to keep his panic at bay, running his hands carefully along his brother's arms, Sam pulled the one dangling from the edge up and close to Dean's body, fighting the urge to roll his sibling as far away from the abyss as he could.

"Just don't jerk now", he mumbled.

It was then Sam noticed the dark staining of Dean's pant leg. The blue denim had turned almost black below the right kneecap. Something with the way the fabric lay against Dean's leg seemed odd.

"Aw, Dean", Sam groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. Leave it to Dean to not just break a bone but also make it an open fracture with the whole shin sticking out.

Sam was about to inspect the injury further when he heard his name being called from somewhere above. He had completely forgotten about Annie. When he looked up she was once again peering down down to him, or probably she had been there all the time, watching him, trying to read his body language and moves, waiting for an update on Dean's condition.

_You're a __boor__, Sammy_ he heard Dean's voice in his head.

"He's alive!" Sam yelled, another lump forming in his throat, the words not coming out as confident as he wished. Yeah, Dean was alive. Barely. And Sam couldn't tell how long he would hang on.

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><p><em>To be continued...<em>


	17. Chapter 17

_Hey, it's me again. For those who remember me. Guess I owe you a few more chapters here, so let's get started with this one...big applause for my Beta MeAzrael who was super-fast reading and correcting this chappy for me so you guys have something to read ASAP! Thank you, hon!_

_Enjoy the chapter and enjoy the finale, guys!  
><em>

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><p><strong>Chapter 17<strong>

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><p>Sam couldn't make out Annie's reaction, she had once again switched to professional cop mode and if the smallest gesture of relief was a smile she was too far away for Sam to see it. He turned his attention back to Dean's leg, contemplating what he could do when a soft whimper ripped him from his musings.<p>

Sam's head snapped around. Shuffling as close to Dean as possible, he intently watched his brother's face. "Dean?"

There was a myriad of small reactions on Dean's features – tiny twitches, chapped lips moving in slow motion, the weakest frown. His movements were like the first hesitating but unyielding drops of rain before a thunderstorm, weak and almost invisible at first until he regained enough consciousness to blink his eyes open to mere slits.

"Hey, easy", Sam whispered, laying a soothing hand on Dean's back, "help's on the way. Just don't move, alright?"

Of course Dean tried to move, tried to turn his head so he could look up to Sam, but seemed to abandon the idea quickly. Another incoherent noise escaped his lips and Sam kicked himself mentally for not carrying some water.

"Shh, I know, I know." Running his free hand through his hair while he kept the other glued to his sibling's back, Sam looked around, nervous eyes wandering along the cliffs and rocks. "Come on, where the hell are you, damnit." The fucking heli was taking it's sweet time.

Another groan drew his attention back to Dean, who had his face scrunched up in pain. Beneath his hand Sam felt him tense and tremble until he stilled again.

"Nonono, stay awake, don't sleep", Sam urged, shaking his brother as hard as he dared, feeling like an ass for doing so nonetheless. As long as Dean was conscious there would be a chance he'd survive. And Sam was going to make him sing the Marseillaise to stay awake if he had to.

Dean acknowledged Sam's actions by another grunt and a clenched jaw that had nothing to do with anger. Sam watched his brother's fight with the pain and felt exhaustion and grief wash over him.

"Yeah, you can take a swing at me when we're out of here and I'm sorry", he started, swallowing heavily, "but I'm freaking out, I don't know what to do. You're hurt, I think it's bad, on a scale from 1 to 10 I guess it's a 12, and there's nothing I can do except talking and throwing orders and soothing words at you to help you stay with me because I don't know if you're only taking a nap or will be gone for good. So please, Dean, humor me here, okay? Open your eyes, man."

Dean had stilled again and Sam was about to panic when he saw his brother's lips move. He leaned closer to him, cursing the crunching gravel beneath his knees that threatened to drown whatever his brother was mumbling or grunting or whispering.

"...urts..."

Torn between relief that Dean had actually listened, and sorrow that he was obviously in so much pain that he admitted it Sam's shoulders sagged. "I know Dean, help is coming, just ride it out, okay?"

There was the ghost of a nod until Dean tensed again, another wave of agony seeming to curse through him.

"Can you tell me where it hurts, Dean?" Sam knew that it wasn't the best idea to coax Dean to talk right now, but it was one way to keep him aware.

"Ev'rywhere..."

So not the answer Sam had wanted to hear. But then, if everything hurt, chances were good that Dean's back was okay, no shattered spine, no paralyzation. "You look like it, dude", Sam replied, trying to sound playful for Dean's and his own sake.

For the first time since his return to consciousness the older Winchester managed to open his eyes wide enough to actually focus on Sam, or rather, on his knees. Dean had given up the task of turning his head, so he blinked sluggishly, staring vacantly into space.

"Hey", Sam said softly, unconsciously kneading the fabric of Dean's shirt, "Dude, you seriously need to kick the habit or I swear, I'll age prematurely."

"'abit?"

"Dying. Not dying. Seriously, man, you're giving me major heart attacks." It was meant as a joke, and Dean's lips twitched to a feeble smile, but Sam felt his eyes well up.

"'m a cat...hundred lives..."

"Nine, Dean. A cat has nine lives. And even if you were a cat you'd be long overdue."

A frown formed itself on Dean's forehead and for a moment it looked as if he'd contemplate Sam's words. But then his face scrunched up again and he tried to roll in on himself, pushing out a sound between a groan and a whimper.

"Dean?" Alarmed, Sam started to rub his stricken brother's back with one hand while he tried to prevent him from slipping off the edge, grabbing his shirt.

"God...S'mmy..." Dean's face was a grimace of agony and despair, his efforts to roll onto his side seeming to worsen the pain he was obviously in.

"I'm here, man, I'm right here", Sam answered as calm as he possibly could, given the circumstances. He failed miserably. "You need to lay still, Dean. Please."

Somewhere between Dean's pained gasps and the sound of his fingers clawing desperately at the rock and gravel underneath them Sam heard Annie's voice from above. He hadn't had to look up at her to know what she wanted to bring to their attention.

Squinting against the warm rays of the evening sun he saw the small dark spot just above the canyon, growing larger and larger, accompanied by a usually menacing, but in this very moment awfully comfortable noise of rotating blades.

"There you are", Sam breathed, unconsciously tightening his grip on Dean, "come on, come on." He felt his brother shudder beneath his own trembling hand, the labored rise and fall of Dean's back that was painful to watch, yet the most beautiful thing in the world to Sam right now.

He wouldn't let go. And he wouldn't allow Dean to let go, either. Not again.

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><p>Sam was ripped from an unintended and restless slumber by loud clattering.<p>

He hadn't wanted to close his eyes in the first place, had leaped to his feet the second he had noticed himself drifting away, marching from his plastic chair to the huge windows on the other side of the room. But somehow the lulling, monotone noises of the surprisingly quiet ER waiting room had done the trick and the exhaustion of the last days had pulled him under.

He jerked awake, looking around in panic, dazed, confused, jumbled thoughts and memories perched on his awareness like fat, smug birds on a power line.

_Good morning, Sam._

Almost crying out Sam whirled around, expecting Kane's arrogant smile beside him. Instead, he met the eyes of a small nurse who was kneeling on the floor a few feet away from him, picking up the things that had fallen down together with a little plastic tray.

"I'm sorry..." she muttered guiltily before she stood up and scurried away with a death grip on the tray.

Holding his breath for a second Sam nodded curtly at her. Then his shoulders sagged and he leaned back, running his hands all the way over his face and through his hair. He hadn't slept long, that much was clear. And if there had been any news on Dean they would've roused him, right?

Sam hadn't seen his brother since they had rushed Dean from the hospital's helipad down here to the ER. It had been his begging, a set of obliging paramedics and the fact that it was a damn narrow ledge Sam had been trapped on that he had been allowed to accompany his sibling in that helicopter at all. The second option would've been to wait for a second helicopter, but Sam would've rather climbed up the cliff with a little help from the winch again before he would've waited on that fucking ledge.

When the heli had started to move from it's hovering to forward flight, when his view of Dean was completely obstructed by frantic medics and he couldn't do anything else except letting his head drop against the cool window pane, Sam had caught sight of Annie. And although she hadn't been alone anymore, a few police cars and ambulances already closing in on her position, she had looked awfully abandoned. Sitting on the ground, Stevie's head in her lap, looking up at the helicopter. Sam hadn't been able to see if Stevie was still alive. He didn't even know if he really cared. His matter of concern had lain a few inches away from him, still and motionless, surrounded by people who had been doing there best to help.

Sam's head snapped up when he caught movement from the corner of his eyes. The next thing he noticed was the feeling of joy washing over him at the smell of fresh coffee.

"Hey", Annie said as a greeting, holding out the cup. She looked like Sam felt. And she sounded like it, too. Her uniform was dusty, stains of dried blood sprinkled her shirt and sleeves. The only thing looking vital and seeming to feel like a million dollars were her light brown curls.

"Hey", Sam managed a genuine smile and took the cup. "Thank you."

She sank down onto the chair next to him. "Anything?"

Sam let out a sigh. It was a gesture of frustration, not aimed at Annie but rather at the doctors and nurses swarming the place without wasting much thought on relatives rotting in those damn plastic chairs, being completely out of their minds with worry.

"No. Not yet", he replied, letting his eyes wander through the almost empty waiting room. The clock on the wall showed almost 11 pm.

"How about you? Are you okay?"

Sam almost barked out a laugh. Actually this was a funny question. One that made him incredibly sad. One he could answer easily. "No."

Annie nodded as if she had already known the answer. "What do you think, will he...I mean...how bad is it?"

"I don't know."

They fell silent again. The ER entry door opened and a young couple came in, the man carrying a little girl. Although she looked sick and feverish she was an eagle-eye watcher, her big blue eyes scanning the room and everyone in it. While the two adults, probably her parents, were talking to a nurse she let her small head drop onto her father's shoulder, blinking heavily at Sam. He couldn't help but smile at her and was all the more surprised when she smiled back at him.

God, how he wished he could snuggle against someone's collar as well. How he wished he could get along with the problems and worries a little child had.

The nurse guided the small family towards one of the exam rooms where they vanished behind a door. Clearing his throat Sam shifted in his seat.

"What about Stevie?" he asked carefully, a sense of foreboding lingering inside him. When Annie kept staring at her hands, her lips pressed together, he knew. Somehow he had known the moment he had encouraged Stevie to hold on back on that cliff.

"He wasn't alone when he died", Annie spoke up, "I guess that's at least something I can be proud of."

"You did nothing wrong, Annie..."

"Yeah well, I didn't do anything right, either. That boy is dead, Dean's injured God knows how bad, there might be a few of Kane's men around or at least on the run, yeah, I did one hell of a job there."

"You couldn't know about his plans. Look, even Dean and me have let our guard down although we knew Kane was out there, probably after us." Sam paused. "How did you find us anyway?"

The question elicited a snort from Annie and she looked up at Sam. "Mr Turner, the owner of the motel. He called me to report environmental pollution. He was very, very upset about the fact that you've had the cheek to drain your fuel tank on his property."

Sam just blinked at her, processing the fact that a simple misunderstanding had probably saved their lives. "So..."

"So, I'm glad the hole Kane has drilled into the Impala's tank was wide enough to lose such an amount of gas I was able to track you down."

Her lips twitched to a feeble smile, one that was contagious enough to raise one from Sam as well. But the moment was short-lived and Annie's face darkened, the touch of joy fading from her features again.

"Annie", Sam tried, "none of all this is your fault. What happened to Stevie...he chose this life, this hunting business..."

_I think he wants us to pick up where he left off, you know, saving people, hunting things. The family business._

Sam paused, suddenly remembering that actually no one chose this life of one's own accord. And after that moment between Kane and Stevie on the cliff he was certain that it had been all the same with that boy.

"He didn't choose it. He was dragged into it."

"What did you find out?"

"Stephen had lived with his mother after his father had left the family. When he was five years old his mother dies in a car crash. The custody was awarded to the next of kin, his uncle."

"Kane."

"Yes. So whatever Stevie did or was forced to do, I don't think he was a killer. I don't know, I just think...if he'd have survived, he might have..." She shrugged. "It doesn't matter what I think. It's over. I couldn't save him. But it's over, alright."

Sam chewed on his bottom lip. He understood Annie, how she felt. She was a cop, it was her duty to put the bad ones behind bars and keep the good ones alive. To her, Stevie had been a poor young man with the wrong acquaintances. Still, Sam had a hard time being all sorry and compassionate about the boy. It had been Stevie's finger on the trigger of the gun that had almost killed his brother. A memory he couldn't repress.

Voices and the sound of a door opening caught his and Annie's attention. The young family stepped out of the exam room again, followed by the same nurse that had guided them into it moments ago. The little girl was on her mother's arm now, still looking tired and sick. But the worry on the parents' faces had been replaced by assurance and gratefulness. Whatever seemed to be off with the little thing's health, it wasn't an insoluble problem.

On their way out she looked back at Sam once more, this time even managing to wave goodbye which he acknowledged with an encouraging smile and a wave of his own.

"You've got a fan", Annie teased when they watched them go, "guess she likes tall men."

Sam just sank back, trying to keep his leg from jumping up and down. He was getting antsy and if Annie weren't with him he'd stomp through the hallway by now, either in search of the next nurse or doctor or in sheer desperation. However, he wasn't a pro when it came to hiding his emotions.

"I might unpack the bad cop just now", Annie murmured, looking through the waiting room impatiently. She was about to raise from her seat when the one door finally opened, the big fucking blue exam room entrance door that Sam had wanted to kick in an eternity ago since he had dropped down onto his fucking blue chair.

Leaping to his feet, he fought the urge to march through the room and plant himself in front of the doctor stepping out. Instead, Sam held his ground and straightened, watching the small woman in scrubs who clearly recognized him as the very person she had thrown out of the exam room hours ago.

"Mr Haddon", she greeted him with an unreadable expression. The smile she wore could have been artificial or genuine, it was impossible to tell. She noticed Annie and gave her a friendly nod, but didn't introduce herself any further. She was probably used to police presence.

"Sam. It's Sam." He tried to remember her name. She had told him when they had first met, somewhere between the hospital's helipad and the ER. Bryan. Dr. Lydia Bryan. Name plates were a bliss.

The doctor nodded. "I'm very sorry we let you wait for so long, Sam. I wanted to talk to you in person. I couldn't leave your brother's side til now."

Sam blinked at her. "Is he okay?"

"There have been...complications."

Sam was sure the color of his face was about to audibly splash onto the ground. "What? What kind of complications?"

Dr. Bryan cast a scrutinizing look over to Annie who had preferred to stay on the sideline.

"It's okay, she's a friend", Sam assured, knowing the reason of Dr. Bryan's reluctance. The family policy. Details about the patient for the next of kin only. Those kind of details you didn't want to hear. Especially if you were the next of kin.

Dr. Bryan's features softened and she motioned at the chairs, "Maybe you like to sit down."

"No, I don't..." Sam bit his tongue, keeping his temper in check. He felt Annie's hand on his back, a comforting, guiding gesture. When she slowly sank onto one of the chairs, Sam's shoulder's sagged. "Doctor Bryan, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to...I just want to know how my brother is."

"I know that, Sam, I understand. Please." She again motioned him to sit down. This time he did what he was told, but he felt horrible. A simple 'Dean is fine' wouldn't require sitting down. An ordinary 'Here's a prescription for the medicine, thank you and goodbye' didn't need a sympathetic doctor. Suddenly Sam felt unspeakably sick and he was glad he wasn't alone with Dr. Bryan.

"We've been able to stabilize your brother for now. His condition has been deteriorating sharply on his way here."

Sam didn't dare to breathe while images and sounds rushed through his mind. Frantic paramedics. Orders being shouted. Big alarms from small devices. Dean's utter silence.

"Dean's fighting hard, but there are many foes to fend off", Dr. Bryan continued, her tone even and oddly mesmerizing, "the blood loss is one of them. The gun shot wound and the open fracture on his leg are the visible damage. What we couldn't make out until Dean was brought here were the internal bleedings. A typical fall injury, yet the most dangerous and in the majority of cases the most lethal one."

She paused, giving Sam and Annie time to process her words.

Sam didn't want to process anything. He stared at Dr. Bryan's face, the face of a woman in her fifties, the face of a person who probably sat here every day, giving lectures on the probability of surviving to shocked parents, siblings, partners.

"Then there is the trauma for the body. Dean was quite lucky to land on his legs instead of his back or even his head. Still..." She looked at Sam. "You've been there."

Sam's nod was almost invisible. Yes, he had been there. Yes, he had seen Dean's leg. The obvious trauma for the body would be etched into Sam's mind forever.

"Again, this is the visible damage. Dean has sustained a spleen rupture and a pneumothorax, a minor one, but still dangerous enough, especially if combined with the other injuries. He needs surgery, but at the moment we just can't risk it. We're going to wait as long as we can for him to hold his own, let his body gain a bit more strength before we expose him to the danger of this surgery."

When Dr. Bryan was done she looked expectantly from Sam to Annie. Actually it was nice to meet a doctor who took the time to listen and talk to relatives, was ready to answer questions after she had just bombarded them with bad news and medical terms. Only that Sam was done. He was dizzy, he was sick, he was ready to start crying like a baby because every fucking word he'd just heard screamed 'Dean is screwed' right into his face.

"Will he..." His mind shut everything out, everything faded to white. Gone, except for that one question. "Will he be okay?"

When Dr. Bryan hesitated and briefly looked away, Sam wanted scream and throw some chairs through the huge windows.

"I don't know, Sam", she answered in all honesty, "his condition...it's very critical. His injuries are serious. We will have to wait and see if he can win this fight."

Sam swallowed. He lowered his gaze, unwilling to be faced with the sympathetic expression of the doctor any longer. From the corner of his eyes he saw Annie shift in her seat before she got up slowly and walked towards the exit, wiping her face.

"I wish I had better news", Dr. Bryan said, looking after her, "I'm sorry."

"No", Sam countered, straightening and exhaling forcefully, "no, you don't have to be sorry. He'll fight this. He always does. You'll see."

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><p><em>To be continued...<em>


	18. Chapter 18

_Huh. Remember me? Remember this? Hope you still want to read on. Sorry, guys, real life and all that._

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><p><strong>Chapter 18<strong>

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><p>When awareness pulled at him like an impatient little child he found himself in weird places. Some where inviting, beckoning him to come in, take a seat and stay, for a while or even forever. Those places were warm and cozy, a soft blanket wrapping itself around him every time he decided to stop by.<p>

Other places were repulsive and cold, unpleasant noises penetrating his whole being, growing brighter and brighter with every step he came closer. With the brightness and the sounds there came pain, unbearable, excruciating pain, causing him to retreat towards the darker, warmer place again.

Somewhere in the back of his mind Dean a voice told him that it were the glaring, painful places he had to go. He couldn't tell why, what or who was waiting for him, he just knew it. Only that he couldn't find the strength to wander through. Sometimes everything in him shut down, catapulted him into a big, fat nothing and it took a little century for him to reach the point of awareness again.

The moment he finally crossed the threshold took almost everything from him. Wading through mud, fighting an invisible drift he clawed his way to the surface, ignoring his body's protests and reluctance against entering the inhospitable place that was so cold and loud and way too bright.

When he managed to open his eyes he was on the verge of falling asleep again, the way to consciousness a long and hard one, leaving him tired and exhausted already.

It took Dean one tiny movement of his head to remember the reason he had made his weary way back, the nagging feeling that had pushed him onward the whole time materializing right beside him. Folded together on a plastic chair and in dire need of a haircut and a clean shave.

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><p>Sam was fed up with these corridors. Light blue and green corridors, endless, not sterile but trying to be, an ugly patterned floor following him wherever he went. The same corridor from Dean's room in the ICU to the elevators, always on hand like sleazy butlers, grinning into his face, taking him downstairs to disgorge him into another corridor leading him to coffee – left to the vending machines, right to the cafeteria. Left if he didn't want to see anyone. Right if he craved for a friendly smile and more delicious coffee.<p>

Today was a vending machine day. Leaning his heavy, throbbing head against the buzzing machine Sam closed his eyes. It had been two weeks now. Two weeks since Dean had been brought here, since Sam had promised Dr Bryan that his brother was tough, a fighter, that he'd survive this. Two weeks full of ups and downs, of 'I'm sorry's' and 'We have faith's'.

From time to time Dean had indeed shown signs of waking up, his eyes rolling slightly behind closed lids, the heart monitor changing from a monotonous rhythm to an uneven chaos. At first Sam had leaped to his feet with joy and excitement, had been from his chair to Dean's bedside in the blink of an eye, had started to talk and ramble and encourage.

Two times his joy had been brutally crushed when the uneven chaos had started to stumble before it had switched to the horrific continuous tone, the dancing line on the monitor going flat. Since then every reaction, wether it was visible on Dean's features our audible from the _Beep Beep_ caused Sam to tense and his own heart clench with dread.

Sam raised a heavy hand to the button getting him his coffee of choice. When the machine started to work, it's thudding and vibrating wandering through Sam's body he realized how hollow he felt.

Of course Annie had been right when she had suggested he should spend at least the nights at the motel. Of course spending all day on a plastic chair and wandering hospital corridors like a ghost wasn't the best. If Dean woke up he'd need a functioning brother, able to help him back to his feet, not a fragile shell ready to burst into a million pieces.

Fact was that Sam was going crazy with every wall that lay between him and Dean. The trip for coffee was bad enough, but the 24 miles to the motel was plain torture. During the three times he had listened to Annie's advice, had let her drive him to the motel and had taken a shower he had been a bag of nerves – tense, jerky, nearly out of his mind with worry, not knowing if Dean was okay or getting worse again.

So Annie had given up trying to coax Sam out of the hospital and had brought the outside world to him instead. She was a great support and Sam was more than once glad to have her around. Not only because she brought him food and coffee that tasted so much better than the hospital stuff the so-called cafeteria offered. Not only because she was there with him whenever her working hours allowed it. But also because it was oddly comfortable to suffer together. The way she spoke to Dean whenever she thought she was alone with him while Sam stood at the door. All the times she tried to be strong for Sam, tried to cheer him up or take his mind off things by talking about a few of her funnier cases or some nerdy townspeople while she fought as hard against the overwhelming emotions as him.

A shrill sound announced what the smell already gave away. Sam pushed himself off the vending machine and took the plastic cup, cursing when the heat bit his fingers. God, he was so damn tired. Tired and sick of this place, this holding cell of fear, anxiety and grief.

He dragged himself back towards the elevators, those damn elevators with the damn guidepost beside the buttons he already knew by heart. The cheerful _DING! a_nnouncing his arrival at the ICU floor. It's fucking blue and green and patterned hallway lying before him, quiet and clean.

When Sam returned to Dean's room nothing had changed. Like all the times before he was greeted by the rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor, the soft humming of the machines, the weak and surprisingly comfortable blue of the lighting. A few days ago Dr Bryan had risked the attempt to remove Dean's ventilator to see if he'd breathe on his own. Sam had almost raised a quarrel with her while his brother had started to do exactly that – breathe. All alone. As if he had been waiting for it all those days. It had been a major step forward, unfortunately the only one since then. The room was quieter now and Dean looked as if he were just asleep instead of fighting for his life, but that was it.

Sam sank down onto the rickety comforter they had granted him, watching his brother. The fading bruises were almost invisible, his pallor was swallowed by the blueish light. It looked as if Dean was about to start bitching any second, his typical half-awake grumbling about whatever.

"This is a choice between the devil and the deep blue sea", Sam spoke up, unconsciously challenging Dean to rant along, to let him know that he was here, waiting, "the coffee I mean. Seriously, the one company selling vending machines to the motels we stay sells the same crappy things to this hospital." He took a sip from the now lukewarm liquid and put the cup aside, kicking his shoes off. He paused, searching Dean's face once again. There was so much he wanted to say, so much on his mind, if he could only find the right things to say, the strength. For once in his life he wasn't in the mood for soft spoken words, he was ready to scream at Dean, to shake him and roar into his face to wake the fuck up and stop doing this to him.

Sam swallowed heavily and rubbed his face. His eyes closed shut before his back even touched mattress. The ambient noise nudged him towards a very likely light and restless slumber. And if he would've been occupied with anything else then trying to fall asleep he would have missed it. A hoarse whisper, barely audible, like a fingertip stroking over fine sandpaper. If Sam didn't know every noise and sound in this room he wouldn't have heard it at all.

But he had.

Sam's eyes snapped open only milliseconds before he sat up and whirled around, willing his sight to adjust to the dimly lit room again.

"Dean?"

The younger Winchester jumped to his feet, almost tripping over his abandoned shoes in the process. He felt his heart skip a beat when he met familiar eyes looking straight at him, at half-mast and glassy but looking at him, the room lighting reflecting in those serene seas of green. Instinctively Sam made himself small, ducking a bit as not to startle his just awakened and awfully fragile looking brother.

"Hey", Sam almost whispered, running a trembling hand through his hair. He pulled the plastic chair close with the other, flinching when it scraped noisily over the floor, cutting through the silence. He dropped down onto it, scrutinizing Dean's face in awe,"hey, man, there you are."

Dean blinked at him, managing a shadow of a smile. Sam knew he had to call a nurse to report Dean's awakening, but he couldn't. Not yet. He just had his brother back, those eyes that had been closed for so many days were finally open, like hell would he willingly destroy this small moment of peace and relief by pushing a button and have an armada of nurses and doctors fall upon them.

Licking his lips Dean shifted weakly, an obviously arduous task in his condition. Sam wanted to grab him and keep him from moving, but knew better than to patronize his brother.

"Why?" Dean croaked out, his raised eyebrows somehow not quite fitting to the odd question.

Sam frowned. "What 'why'? What do you mean?" Panic washed over him. Was Dean angry at him that he hadn't been strong enough to hold onto him, for letting him drop down that cliff? "Dean, I..."

"The coffee", Dean sighed, his strained features softening, "If 's that bad...why d'you...drink it then?"

Sam blinked at his brother before the slurred words made sense and the penny dropped. He huffed out a laughter that turned into a sob on it's way back. "You son of a bitch", he whispered, balling his fists, the brief moment of lightheartedness crumbling again as quick as it had came up. Every single emotion that had been his fuel during the last days seemed to seep out of Sam, leaving him exhausted and drained. It was sheer self-control that kept him from sinking down onto Dean's bedside and bawl like a baby. "Why do you keep doing that? Why can't you just stop dying and dying over and over again..."

"Dude...not dead."

"I thought you were. I thought I'd lost you. Again." Sam didn't care that he was indeed crying now. "Just...promise me to watch out for yourself from time to time, okay? Don't leave me alone here. Just...don't."

Dean looked at him with big eyes. His expression a painful mixture of regret and sadness. He swallowed and struggled with his next words.

"Can't...promise that, Sammy."

Sam gritted his teeth and looked down, the words, so true, so brutally honest like a kick in the guts.

"I know", he hissed, rubbing his face and meeting Dean's searching eyes again. "I know."

* * *

><p>It had been hard work to convince Sam of returning to the motel to have a few good hours – scratch that – days of sleep. Not only for Sam's but for his own sake as well.<p>

Dean had been already exhausted after he had finally managed to open his eyes. The small interaction between him and his obviously shaken little brother had drained Dean to the point of passing out again. But no matter how tired or beaten he had felt, he wouldn't have wanted to worry Sam any further by losing that little consciousness he had gathered. So he had dug his fingernails into it, had clung to every word Sam had said, had relished every expression he could make out in the dimly lit room. He didn't know how long he had been out, but given Sam's haggard appearance and desperation it had been a pretty long time. Pretty long and pretty turbulent.

The next time Dean woke up to find a small, chubby nurse checking his vitals. Due to the lack of a window he didn't know what time it was, how long Sam was gone or how long he had been asleep. Fact was that he didn't feel rested at all, so he took the nurse's advice to go back to sleep only too willingly.

His next slow return to the world of the living was guided by a familiar smell. It was so out of place that it could have been irritating. But Dean had no trouble matching it.

"Annie", he rasped with his eyes still closed, the first part of the name coming out as a soundless whisper before his voice noticed that it had missed it's entry.

There was a feeble rustling and a soft intake of breath before she answered quietly. "What gave me away?"

Dean slowly blinked his eyes open. To no surprise it was still dark except the blueish light above his him. And where he probably resembled a corpse in that unflattering light, Annie looked beautiful. She sat on the plastic chair by his side, as close as the furniture allowed, caressing his fingers. She wore the casual look, meaning it was her day off today.

When Dean met her gaze her tense features broke into a smile, which Dean returned.

"Vanilla."

Annie laughed and tilted her head. "Yeah, well. It worked. You're back." There was the same sadness in her laughter as it had been in Sam's. Damnit, looks as if this last episode had been a close call. "How are you?"

Dean frowned. This was actually a good question. Basically he was fine. Tired, yes. But there was no pain. No limb missing. No signs of a fatal injury. Was this a good or a bad thing? Alarmed he looked down where his feet were covered by the blanket. He tried to wiggle his toes. It felt strange. But when he saw and actually felt them move a tiny bit he dared to release the breath he had been holding.

"'m okay, I guess."

He watched Annie nod. It was embittered, her lips pressed together to a thin line. Dean wasn't sure if he wanted to keep this conversation go further into the direction it was heading. For the first time it occurred to him that waking up didn't necessarily mean being out of the woods.

"Where's Sam?" he asked, suddenly worried about his brother who had been so upset last time, whenever that had been.

"At the motel, hopefully resting. And as I haven't gotten a call from him by now I take it he's still sleeping." She smiled again, a more confident smile this time. "When he called me last night to tell me you were awake he sounded so happy and relieved...he got me pretty worried during the last two weeks."

Dean blinked. "Two weeks?"

Her smile faded. "What can I say. You've been a jigsaw puzzle. You took the shortcut on your way down that cliff, but it wasn't short enough. You had three surgeries, two to repair the damage, one to keep you in this world. I didn't know what to do to help your brother. I'd never have thought that a man as big as Sam could wither and dwindle like he had."

Annie stopped and looked away while Dean narrowed his eyes, inspecting a spot at the wall without seeing it, trying to recall the last moments that had him brought here. He remembered the desert, the heat, Kane and that kid, Stevie.

_'I don't care. Put the gun down. I won't say it again.'_

The gun shot and the searing pain. Clumsily he managed to move a hand up to his shoulder where his fingers stroke over the thin material of the hospital gown. The touch awakened a numb flare of pain that was swallowed by the obviously strong medication immediately.

"_I drag you down, you're going to die with me..."_

Dean's eyes wandered along the blanket, following the outline of his lower body. Something was off with his right leg. There had been someone really eager with the cast.

_'I can pull you up, just hold on to me!'_

The numerous tubes and wires crawling from underneath his gown sent a shiver down Dean's spine. Those had probably something to do with the constant feeling of a huge hippo sitting on his chest.

_''m a cat...hundred lives...'_

Head bandage. Check. A freakin' nasal cannula. Check. The penetrating sickness he tended to get when he was fed with certain medication. Check. Geez, how come he hadn't noticed until now?

"They got your leg set again", Annie went on, composed now, "an open multiple fracture of your right shin. It's going to take a few months to heal, though."

Dean swallowed and looked up at her again. He wanted to become absorbed by the mattress all of a sudden. "Good times", he mumbled, the thought of an incredibly long time without walking, hunting or driving his own car bothering to no end.

"Look, you're alive. That's what matters. You kept us in suspense during the last two weeks, I'm sure we both earned us a few more gray hair, Sam and me, but...well." She shrugged and started to caress Dean's bare arm.

"Remember when you found out...that m'life sucks ass?" he rasped, smiling at her. A smile she returned with one of her own, heavy with sadness.

"The reason you're going to take it with you when you leave."

Dean nodded, the shadow of a headache building itself up somewhere in his skull. "Yeah. Better that way."

"Remember my opinion?" Annie challenged.

There was a tiny pause. It took Dean a few seconds to mentally wander back to that day their conversation had took place. "Y'don't want me to go." He nervously licked his lips, "Annie..."

"Don't. I know. We've talked about this. What I'm trying to say is that your life isn't that bad. You have people who love you, who care about you." She snorted, "I guess this fine sailor has a wife in every port of call."

"Hey..." Dean protested but she lay a finger on his lips.

"No, it's okay." She shifted and bit her lower lip. "I'm going to check on Sam. I'm sure he's going to be furious if he finds out that I didn't wake him up."

She raised from her chair, her curls dancing on her shoulders.

"Annie?" Dean wanted to sit up but skipped the task when a jolt of pain ran through him. Sinking back onto his pillow he caught Annie's gaze. "Thanks. For looking out for Sammy."

She smiled and leaned in to him, placing a soft kiss on his lips. "You're welcome."

* * *

><p><em>To be continued...<em>


	19. Chapter 19

_**Looks up from her hiding place underneath a huge rock**_  
><em>Hi. Rememeber me? Yes, I'm still alive, I haven't forgotten about all you trusty people out there and I know I promised to finish this sweet little tale...it took me longer than I thought, with Real Life kicking my butt all the time and all that but HEY, I'M BACK! And I finished this story for you.<em>

_I can already hear my sweet Beta, MeAzrael, asking where the Epilogue is gone...Sweetums, I decided to skip it as I want this baby to be done an posted so I can concentrate on my other stories I started ages ago. _

_So, this is it, I hope I've managed to pull all the loose ends together...enjoy!_

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><p><strong>Chapter 19<strong>

The next days turned out to be the hardest for all involved. With the pain medication being cut back, the full extent of his injuries hit Dean like a steam engine. Not that he suffered openly, no way. Of course he tried to make sure Sam wouldn't notice any of his struggles. Of course Sam read him like an open book. The fine sheen of sweat, the labored breathing and the request to be alone were just a few of the many signs of his big brother's fight against the anguish and distress.

It was right after lunch a few hours after medication had been discontinued completely when Sam had had enough. After watching Dean refuse to eat, again, and noticing hooded eyes that had been far too glassy to be just due to exhaustion and fatigue Sam had marched out to grab the next nurse and drag her into Dean's room, commanding her to give him something for the pain. Now. Thank you. Dean's acceptance had been the worst part. He hadn't protested when the nurse had applied the IV again, a testament to how bad it was.

Dean still slept a lot, but at least the spans of lucidity became longer. It took another week for the pallor to retreat and make room for a healthier color in Dean's face.

A side benefit of his brother's bed-stricken situation was the sudden amount of time they had together. With Dean being unable to walk and his vehement aversion for the offered wheel chair it was mostly the two of them, Sam sitting next to Dean's bedside, providing him with smuggled junk food and keeping him up to date with the events of the outside world. They talked a lot, about the recent events at the cliff, what had happened to Kane. Sam filled his brother in on the details of Stevie's death, unable to read Dean's feelings concerning the issue. There was no doubt the kid's brutal demise affected him, but it was almost as if Dean wouldn't want to admit any touch of sadness or grief. No surprise. Sam had at least been able to learn about what had been going on in that kid's head. Dean had only caught a bullet from Stevie's gun. And when it came to things like that, Dean was pretty resentful.

They talked about stuff in the newspaper, cases, maybe-cases, not-yet-cases, the things they should do or not do until Dean was up and running again, they even talked about Annie. Sam watched with big amusement the slight whiffs of jealousy flashing over Dean's face from time to time while he told him about his and Annie's long waiting hours together. But Dean never said anything. He knew that Annie wasn't his. That she couldn't be his. They would have to leave as soon as Dean was up for it and they would leave her behind, like everyone else who had come close to them. Voluntarily and involuntarily.

The very topic Sam bothered the most, causing him to lie awake for hours some nights, the thing that had cost him a few finger nails he had bitten off while he sat vigil at Dean's side, it was still there. The elephant was still palpable, this time leaning against the door jamb of the hospital room with raised eyebrows and an ugly smile beneath its waving trunk. Sam would love to leave it right here, to take his brother and walk past it, going on with a clean swiped slate. But he also knew that there would never be the right moment to talk about this, to resolve it.

Sam absentmindedly watched the cars and people in the parking lot, bustling around like ants. Dean had been moved from ICU to a normal room 36 hours after he had woken up – 36 hours too long for Dean's liking, who had started to gripe about the 'high-tech shoe box' as soon as he had been lucid enough to pick up on his surroundings. 36 hours Sam would have preferred to be ramped up because the thought of his brother not being monitored 24/7 had been horrible, at least over the first days.

Now it was Sam who benefitted from the relocation. No longer being pressed to stare at a jumping ECG or an unconscious brother, he could sit on the window sill and look outside while Dean had his meetings with his beloved physiotherapist.

Sure enough, Dean's mood was far from affectionate when Turner, a pretty massive wardrobe of a man, brought him back and helped him from the wheel chair into his bed. The giant man greeted Sam before he strolled out and let the Winchester's alone.

"I tell you what, I don't remember hell, but I'm sure he was there", Dean growled, shifting on the mattress, a move that was followed by a sharp intake of breath and pained grunt. Sam jumped to his feet but hung back, knowing how much his brother hated the mother hen act. He watched Dean settle and leaned back against the window sill. It was a miracle that his brother had spent so much time in hell without a single memory. He would thank God for it if he'd be still sure there was one out there. But after everything that had happened...

"You good?" Dean looked expectantly at him, a fine sheen of sweat covering his face. He was even a little bit out of breath, an unnerving and scary sight.

"Yeah", Sam replied, clearing his throat, "Turner seems like a nice guy."

"Sure, he's just waving at you. Me, I'm his modeling clay. I swear, sometimes I think he forgets that I have bones and all that not so flexible stuff in me."

"Come on, if he were a girl you wouldn't whine at all."

"Whatever."

They fell silent, an awkward pause Sam used to chew on his fingernails and stare ahead. When he looked up again he noticed that Dean was watching him.

"What's eating you?" he asked, narrowing his eyes.

"Nothing."

"Sam."

The younger Winchester sighed. His brother and his sensitive antennas.

"I...you know...there's still a record to set straight between us", Sam started, and sure enough the change of Dean's facial expression was equatable with the process of a shutter crashing down.

"Aw, you gotta be kidding me..." Dean mumbled and let his head drop back into the pillow.

Sam felt a surge of anger bubbling up inside him. "What, you wanted to know what's nagging me, now you could at least listen."

"I kinda hoped it had something to do with a broken nail or something, okay?"

"Dean..."

"Now's not a good time, Sam..."

"It's never a good time, we had this conversation already, remember?" Sam pushed himself off the window sill and pulled the chair to Dean's bedside, sinking down onto it and deliberately ignoring his brother's heated glare. Licking his lips and trying to calm himself, Sam searched for the right words.

"Did you mean what you said?"

Dean raised a hand to his face and pinched the bridge of his nose. "I said a lot, Sam", he replied quietly, the looming conversation seeming to unnerve him.

"Back at the Motel. That you don't trust me anymore. That you...that it's actually your job to kill me." Sam didn't know why he had asked the question. He wasn't even sure if he wanted to know the answer. He tried to catch Dean's gaze but his brother kept his eyes glued to the blanket. "Dean?"

"It's nothing", the other man growled, "I shouldn't have said that, I was angry."

Sam pressed his lips together and nodded. "Do you think it's your job to kill me? Because of my abilities?"

Dean's head snapped up so hard Sam almost flinched. "Woah, wait a minute. Abilities? Seriously?You do realize that abilities are usually something good and useful, like flying or climbing walls."

Sam raised his eyebrows in disbelief. "Oh, and what's so wrong with mine?"

"They're demonic, Sam. Why the hell do I have to discuss this with you, huh? With YOU, of all people?"

"Because I believe in them, I know they're good, I can save people."

"How can they be good when they come from hell?"

"They might be from hell but maybe it's...I don't know, with the right person using them they can help."

"Come on, Sam, are you even listening to yourself? What did Ruby do to you that you believe this crap, huh?"

"Leave her alone, Dean."

"Oh, I'm sorry, did I hit a nerve?"

"Just stop it!" Sam's outburst set an abrupt end to their heated discussion that had grown in volume with each sentence. He jumped up from the chair and started to pace. "She was there for me, if it weren't for her I wouldn't have been able to move on. Do you realize that? You were gone."

"My bad", Dean retorted flippantly, obviously irritated by his moving sibling, "It's still no reason to BFF with that bitch to learn the dark side of the Force."

Sam stopped when he was back at the window again and took a look outside before he whirled around to face his older brother. His rage and the tirade on his lips died immediately when he took in Dean's pale appearance.

In between the marks of exhaustion and pain the last weeks had left on his face, traces of sadness and bitterness shone through. Dean was carrying a lot of stuff with him, so much Sam could see, and he doubted that it had all to do with him and his powers.

"You okay?" Sam asked, forgetting his anger.

Dean looked up at him, not answering, looking as if he was contemplating his words. Sam was sure he'd get the standard 'Yeah, sure.' reply. He wasn't prepared for the open words Dean slapped him round the head with.

"No, Sam. I'm not okay", he answered quietly, blinking at his younger brother. It was that serene, indifferent look on Dean's face Sam dreaded. He could deal with an angry Dean, with a furious Dean, hell, somehow he could handle a gloomy Dean as well. But Dean opening up, talking, all honest and serious...it was something Sam wanted so often, but when the moment came he didn't know if he was ready.

"I'm tired", Dean sighed, holding Sam's gaze, "I don't wanna argue about this anymore because it's useless. You're stubborn, I'm stubborn. You feel that you've done the right thing and you won't listen to me, no matter what I say or how loud I holler at you. You feel that we should talk about this, I don't think so because we'll never agree on this. Not today, not tomorrow."

Sam straightened, "Dean..."

"Sam...I believe I said it already, I will say it again. I'm not going to approve your weird powers. I can accept it, I can try to live with it. But I will never approve them. And the fact that you lied to me, well..." Dean shrugged and raised his eyebrows , "If I try to understand that you did it to protect me or to talk to me about it later, maybe I can swallow my anger. What else could I do, right? But please...just leave it be, okay, Sam? Leave it alone."

Sam blinked. He opened his mouth to protest, to keep this conversation from being over, as ugly and unpleasant as it was. But when Dean let his head sink into the pillow and turned slightly away from him, Sam knew that this debate was over. Probably once and for all.

He tore his gaze away from Dean and swallowed, all of a sudden feeling utterly alone. It was the moment this whole thing could escalate into a full-blown controversy, ending with Sam stomping out of the room, maybe even stomping away from his brother forever. He was angry for Dean being so obstinate, so ignorant for warding off a powerful weapon that could be so precious for them in their line of business, so valuable even for their lives.

Sam cast a furious glance toward the door. Then, words popped up in his head, spoken by a demon with Dean's stolen voice.

_Me whizzing back into the pit by your hands…or hand…it's a pretty heavy blow to your brotherly relationship. And that makes me grin, wide and toothy._

Sam looked back at Dean who had his head still turned away from him, eyes closed. The rage that held him in a tight grip slowly ran down on him like sticky liquid bitumen, releasing him, taking the urge to flee from this room with it.

Exiting these walls would destroy what he had missed and wanted back so badly during the last months. Leaving now meant they all had won.

Sam ran a hand through his by now far too long hair and stood up.

"Coffee?" he asked and almost flinched at hearing his own surprisingly booming voice crashing through the silence of the room.

Dean dragged his eyes open as if they weighed a ton and rolled his head around to meet Sam's gaze. He looked wary, as if he had pondered on the same ending of this story as Sam had. Standing at the same bridge, contemplating to walk to the other side and burn the steps behind him.

Sam pressed his lips together. Which decision had his brother made?

"I don't know if I'm allowed to have one", Dean replied quietly. Was there a flicker of a pouting flashing over his tired face?

Sam raised his eyebrows. Slow, tender steps on a very thin coat of ice. "You weren't allowed to have all that junk food I brought the last days, either. I won't sneak this little secret to nurse Ratched", he vowed, looking mysteriously at his brother. "So what do you say, could you do with a strong black Arabica?"

Dean blinked, but he hesitated only for a second before his haggard features broke into a shit-eating grin. "Hell yes", he gasped, "make it extra large."

A smile and an assuring nod was Sam's answer. He held Dean's gaze a second longer, relieved, grateful, before he walked towards the door, patting the back of his pants to make sure he carried his wallet.

They could be okay. Maybe not immediately. Maybe not tomorrow. This was probably just another little grain of sand predestinated to turn into a rogue sandstorm in their future. But they knew how to handle those, right?

**The End**

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><p><em>As always, I'm hugging one of my biggest joy in life: MeAzrael, who never stopped encouraging and praising me – thank you once again for being my sidekick during this journey, for all your smiles and comments in every chapter, for taking the time to read my clobber.<em>

_And a huge thank you for all you out there who read this one and took the time to leave reviews! You all totally made my days!  
><em>

_See you next time!  
><em>


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